The Long Way
by Lancette
Summary: Life for Mitchell is getting complicated and Herrick has plans for him. Set in Bristol before meeting George. Pre-series 1. Final chapter now posted. Note: rated T for language and some mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

_As you know, Being Human and it's wonderful characters belong to Toby Whithouse and the BBC. I'm just borrowing them for a little while, and of course all errors are my own. __Being new to writing, I would love to hear what you think so your reviews are always very welcome – the good, the bad, and the ugly - I hope you enjoy it._

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><p><strong><em>"<em>Long is the way,**

**and hard, that out of hell leads up to light."**

_Chapter 1 / The challenge_

The sound ripped through his nervous system like shrapnel. A vicious explosion of sensation that shredded his mind and hurled him awake. Had it been a scream? His own scream? He couldn't know. His throat closed, he couldn't cry out, he was going to suffocate. Perhaps this time he really was in hell. All he could do was grip the side of the bed, keeping his head down and his eyes clenched shut until the waves of terror passed.

After what felt like an eternity the sensations abated. He allowed his eyes to open, and exhaled cautiously. He looked around, his movements slow and deliberate, as if disturbing the quiet space that surrounded him as little as he possibly could. As if he were a ghost.

There had been no scream. The world was still and calm. The first light of a misty dawn was creeping past the edge of the curtains and it was going to be a beautiful crisp Sunday morning in autumn. The only sounds breaking the stillness were the hum of city traffic and the last birdsong of the dawn chorus.

He sat motionless on the side of the bed for long minutes, allowing reality to reclaim him, bringing him back from the chaos. He knew this moment so well, he had lived through it so many thousands of times. Sometimes it took a different face and caught him off guard, catching him as he walked through a park, or talked with a friend, or buttered some toast. But it was always there – the screams, the terror, the ripping of flesh – there, waiting for him.

He raised his right hand to rake it through his hair, pulling the nearly black curls away from his face. He straightened his back and lifted himself from the edge of the bed, stretching out his lithe frame as he did so. He took in the scene laid out before him. White cotton sheets, more than a little crumpled. Magnolia walls and cream curtains. A carelessly framed print of a bridge hanging above the bed. Clothes strewn across a beige carpet and over a rather uncomfortable-looking red leather chair. Of course. Yet another anonymous hotel bedroom in a medium-sized English city.

And of course there was a woman. Her straight blonde hair spread across the pillows, her body resting on the crumpled sheets, her carefully maintained soft tan almost glowing against the sharp white of the linen, one arm falling casually over the edge of the bed. Jennifer. For some reason it was important to him that he knew her name. Why was that?

Jesus. Why was it so easy?

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><p>Last night the bar had been loud and heaving with a press of humanity out to have a great night come what may. Saturday night in Bristol city centre was always something of a zoo and the bar had a reputation to maintain for being latest big thing. He had sat in a corner, practically hidden behind an expanse of dark wood table, accepting drink after drink. His companion had been in jovial mood, happy to keep returning to the bar to get in yet another shot of vodka while himself sipping at a glass of the very best red wine on offer. 'Thank goodness they've got something a little more interesting than this year's bottle. I really don't think 2006 will prove to be a vintage year. But I have to say, old son, you appear to be a man on a mission tonight.' The older man placed the full shot glass down on the table. 'It won't be long before you drink this remarkably fine establishment completely dry. Not that I'd wish to interfere you understand, it's good to see you let your hair down. About time if you ask me.'<p>

'What are your plans for the night then Herrick? There's plenty to choose from in here, but we can move on if you fancy something a bit more, erm, sophisticated, you know, to match your palate.'

The shark's smile effortlessly creased Herrick's face, 'Mitchell, I think you underestimate these fine creatures'. He gestured towards a group of girls apparently out for a good time that night. Two of them had already been looking across, just drunk enough to be laughing over which of them stood most chance of winning the attention of the very attractive guy hiding away in the corner with the dark curls, melting brown eyes, and a body to die for.

'I think it's time, don't you?' and with that Herrick set off towards his targets. They were very fresh, very pretty, dressed up for a party, and clearly far more naïve than they thought they were. Mitchell never doubted that Herrick would succeed in reeling the girls in. His combination of good humour and slighty old-fashioned politeness was undeniably charming and - although it was an unspoken truth - he also had Mitchell as bait, just to get things started. Forty minutes and two rounds of drink later and the girls were comfortably snuggled up behind the dark wood table and genuinely enjoying Herrick's company, while still sneaking surreptitious looks in Mitchell's direction whenever they could without seeming too impolite. 'Well, my dear, I can recommend an excellent Thai restaurant just a couple of miles away, my friend and I would be more than happy to treat you both' Herrick was saying, moving the pieces of his plan smoothly into position, but Mitchell's attention had been wandering for some time.

She looked out of place sitting alone at the crowded bar with a glass of orange juice. Her dark suit and shiny black shoes shouted that she had come straight from work. Every few minutes she glanced at her phone, sighed, and gave her long blonde hair a tiny shake. Mitchell couldn't quite tell whether it was in disappointment or anger.

'John', Herrick was saying, 'you have your car with you, what do you say we move on to the restaurant? It's getting late and we're all feeling peckish. I'll phone ahead to reserve a table'.

'Yeah', Mitchell said distractedly, 'yeah, good idea. The car's parked just down the way there, the first turning on the right. I tell you what, why don't you three go on ahead, I'll catch you up. I just need to…' His voice trailed off as Herrick threw him a quizzical look.

'Certainly!' Herrick stood up, 'after you, ladies'.

The girls started to gather their coats, quietly reassuring each other that everything was good, that there's safety in numbers, and anyway the older guy reminded them of a schoolteacher they'd once had, what with his short sandy hair and twinkly blue eyes.

'Now then, Mitchell, what's going on. You're not in one of your playing-hard-to-get moods are you?' Herrick whispered acerbically.

'Of course not' Mitchell said, a little too quickly for his companion's liking, 'd'you see the woman over there, blonde, long legs, holding an orange juice. It seems I'm up for a bit more of a chase tonight. You understand that don't you?'

Herrick saw the glance that Mitchell threw towards his prey. Ravenous was the word that came to mind. He nodded reluctantly, 'Well you certainly pick your moments to abandon ship.'

Mitchell smiled and handed over the car keys 'I'd prefer it if you found a spot other than the inside of my car, you know, find a lane or something', he muttered 'but I guess I can't complain.'

Herrick tilted his head slightly 'no, you most certainly can not. Anyway. Enjoy your rather attractive challenge over there. Make a night of it. I'll call you in the morning, there's something I need to sort out with you.' He turned quickly and instantly beamed a smile 'let's go ahead then ladies, it will do him good to have a little jog to catch us up.'

For a moment Mitchell stared after the three of them, the girls taking an arm each, so gallantly offered by the monster they trusted. They were so young. It wasn't fair. What was going to happen to them was … but he couldn't stop Herrick, even if it could ever be his place to try, even if he really wanted to. And Herrick was relishing this opportunity to add yet another story to his list of triumphs. What would happen next had been inevitable from the beginning.

Then he realised - he didn't even know their names.

Christ. Why was it always so easy?

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><p>She watched him carefully. There was something in the smile, something in the way he watched his companions leave. It repelled her and attracted her in equal measure. After all it was part of her job to size people up quickly, to see how much she should trust what they said. This man was fascinating. His face could express so much, but then when he had been chatting to the little brown-haired girl the easy charm had clearly been plastered on. Couldn't the girl see how closed off his body language had become? How his eyes kept sliding away from her face to stare at her body?<p>

Anyway. However much she enjoyed people-watching, if there was no message from Jamie this time she was leaving. She took out her phone for the thousandth time that evening just to give him one more chance… but no, there was nothing. She shook her head slightly. Enough was enough. Exactly when had Jamie turned into such a bastard.

She half rose from the bar stool, her mind set on getting out of there and home as fast as she could, and almost collided with the man suddenly standing far too close to her for comfort. She looked up into smiling brown eyes and felt a power in his physical presence that momentarily frightened her. Her head span and she gasped. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump, I was just getting myself a refill' a deep, soft Irish voice said, and his hand reached out to support her elbow as she moved unsteadily backwards. 'Mind you, you've been drinking too much orange juice, and I've been drinking too much vodka. It might be a good time to swap drinks.'

'Or maybe we could just do a bit of mixing' she said, before biting her lip with embarrassment. Where had that come from? The Big Book of things not to say when you're trying very hard not to find a man attractive - but failing?

To her relief he burst out laughing, and the laughter changed everything, it seemed to light up hs face. His amusement was infectious and she relaxed. 'Surely that should have been my pick-up line' he teased.

'Only if you were actually trying to pick me up'.

The sudden look he gave her in response was hot and inviting. There was no room for any doubt between them exactly where this was heading.

'John' he said simply, holding out his hand. 'Jennifer' she replied, taking it. It could have been just a handshake, but instead he held her hand and led her to the dark wood table in the corner and helped her sit down. 'Two vodka and oranges then?' he asked. This was her cue to decline, to make her excuses and to leave. She would go back to the lovely, cold flat she shared with Jamie and sit in front of the TV wondering why her boyfriend had left her in all but name. 'Yes please' she said.

Jennifer wasn't sure what they'd talked about. The usual, probably. How do you find Bristol, the weather's getting colder, I love the autumn, where in Ireland do you come from... it was irrelevant really. His manner was easy and open, he made her laugh, he seemed gentle, and she felt like she was drowning in him.

'Can I see you home?' he asked as closing time was called.

'No', she said starkly 'I don't want to go home, not anymore, not yet.'

He nodded. 'Would you like to come with me?'

She said nothing, but picked up her coat and handbag and held out her hand.

_Shit, Mitchell thought. She was interesting, beautiful, sad. It had been too easy after all._

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><p>The last of the morning birdsong died away as Mitchell looked down on the bed where she lay. She really was lovely. It was in her eyes, her smile. Jennifer, that was her name.<p>

He had lost himself in her, and she had welcomed him without any reservation. The first kiss had come long after their hands had stripped away the layers of clothes and touched skin. Her touch had been tentative, unsure at the start, but as she heard his breathing grow ragged and his body responded deliciously to the movements of her fingers, she felt the need in her reach out to him. Slow but frantic they had searched out the elements of each other that needed solace. She had no idea of the iron will he needed as his tongue moved down her neck in slow circles, how he drank in the heat of life as he pressed his mouth against the pulse fluttering erratically. And later she had sighed with endlessly mounting pleasure, clutching at his soft dark curls with her hands as his mouth finally found the place nestling at the top of her inner thigh and his teeth grazed at her femoral pulse, teasing her, tormenting himself.

After, she had lain against him, kissing his neck, her tongue lapping at him, unconsciously searching out the same warmth, the same life force. Hadn't she noticed it wasn't there? Hadn't she noticed how cold he was? Then he had slept deeply for the first time in weeks.

Mitchell reached over to the pointless red chair and started to pull on his clothes, standing to zip up his jeans.

'Must you?' a voice whispered 'must you go now?'

He turned to see her, her hair messy, eyes warm. His mind clinically assessed the options. He could be gentle, kiss her, stroke her hair, maybe share a false phone number, let her down gently, leave her with her dignity; he could be brutal, the end of a one-night-stand, job done, leave her crushed; and of course he could kill her, and obviously that's the option he should choose. Unthinkingly he licked his lips.

'Thanks.' he said abruptly, turning his back to her. 'Thanks for last night. You're a great lay, darlin', your husband should definitely pay more attention to you. Maybe I should tell him that. I need a piss', and he walked quickly into the tiny bathroom before he had to see the look on her face, leaning back against the door as it closed behind him. The thundering call of her heartbeat in his ears started to fade, but the gnawing need remained.

She was dressed by the time he came back into the bedroom. Her chin was held high and her hands gripped each other so hard he could see the whites of her knuckles. 'It's not like I know what to say in this kind of situation' she said before he could start again ' so I'll say goodbye, John'. She stood completely still, watching his face, hoping against hope that she had misunderstood him, that he'd draw her close again.

'No problem, I've paid for the room already so don't worry about that' he shrugged dismissively. Suddenly she remembered that fleeting moment of repulsion she'd felt when observing him smiling at his friend in the bar. She gulped as if in pain, nodded and walked to the door.'Oh, by the way, I wouldn't normally say this, but just so's you know, my name isn't really John'.

The door slammed.

He threw himself backwards onto the bed, an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the sunshine forcing its way into the room. Too easy to crush - but at least she'd never want to find him or speak to him or anyone he knew ever again.

Fuck. Not killing her, that was just about the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He didn't know how long he'd lain there when his phone rang, and he dragged it to his ear. 'Good morning' a horribly cheerful voice said 'so where are you and where should I send the clean-up squad?'

'It's fine, there's no need' Mitchell replied swiftly 'I didn't get as far as her place or mine, and the river flows surprisingly fast at this time of year'.

'Ahh' Mitchell could hear Herrick's satisfaction even down the phone 'so, how did you enjoy your challenge? Clearly you succeeded if we're talking about you littering the river Avon with the result.'

'It was harder than I thought, but I just about made it. You?'

'Well let's just say your car won't be ready until later this afternoon, the valet service is working overtime as we speak. Sorry about that. Still, you can have it back at 4 o'clock, fresh as a daisy. Come to my house and collect it there, I need to speak to you about something. It's important.'

Mitchell caught his breath. Meet at Herrick's house. That wasn't normal.

'What's it about' he asked, keeping his concern out of his voice 'something to do with me?'

'In a manner of speaking' Herrick clearly wasn't going to give much away over the phone, 'it's time you had some gainful employment, I have a job for you, soldier.'


	2. Chapter 2

__As you know, Being Human and its wonderful characters belong to Toby Whithouse and the BBC. I'm just borrowing them for a little while, and of course all errors are my own. Thank you for taking the time to review Chapter one, it really is appreciated! __Being new to writing, I would love to hear what you think so your reviews are always very welcome – the good, the bad, and the ugly - I hope you enjoy it.__

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><p><strong>"Darkness, once gazed upon, can never be lost"<br>**

_Chapter 2 / Sunday_

_Sunday 8am._

"Beautiful morning innit, me luvver?" The taxi driver opened the car door and she slid onto the back seat, letting her head fall back. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath of the cold, cleansing air. "Yes, it's lovely" she replied and gave her address. How could she have been so stupid. A one-night stand just because she was pissed off with Jamie. Maybe she deserved all the ugly words that the beautiful Irish bastard had thrown in her face.

Her flat was empty when she plucked up the courage to turn her key in the lock and enter. Silence. She exhaled with relief. There was no need for her to use the half-formed explanations she had been planning. Minutes later she stepped under the piping hot shower. As her body relaxed under the stinging jets she allowed her mind to explore the night before, to recall what he had really been like with her. He had been funny, gentle, kind, self-deprecating, but there had been something else in him too, something indefinable but exciting. It didn't make sense. The man she had shared that anonymous hotel bed with was not the man who had so brutally dismissed her this morning. It hadn't all been an act. She needed to believe that, she was certain of it.

What the hell kind of man was he?

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><p><em>Sunday 8am.<em>

Mitchell tossed the phone down onto the hotel bed.

The call was the kind of summons you did not refuse. Add to that the instruction to come to Herrick's house, and this was clearly going to be a cosy private meeting, just the two of them. There'd be no way of hiding out in the crowd.

Meet at four o'clock this afternoon? Shit.

He brought his hands up to his face, palms pressed together, and rested his forehead on the tips of his fingers like a prayer, searching for a way out of this godawful mess of his own making. Lying to Herrick was risky enough at any time without throwing in the cold hard truth that under these circumstances he stood little chance of getting away with it.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

It had been nearly two weeks. The pain of not feeding was becoming a kind of pleasure for him, it made him feel alive as every nerve in his body sang with need as he stretched himself on the rack - just one more day. But he was no fool. He'd been here before and knew exactly what would come next... and knew that he wasn't capable of facing it alone. Christ, why should he ever face that hell again?

He was what he was, and she'd been there, so willing last night. He could still feel her drawing him closer and closer to her, into her, there for the taking. What made her so special that she was worth the risk of saving? The truth was she wasn't. She'd just got lucky. Lucky he'd been able to meet his own challenge, lucky that he'd been able to hold onto the fragments of his humanity just long enough. She had welcomed him with such open warmth and he had relished the sensation of losing himself in her, just for the night. He could still smell the sweetness of her on the pillows, and he could still see the desolate look on her face as she went to slam the hotel door behind her.

Yeah, lucky.

He lowered his hands down from his face and held them out in front of him. The tremor that ran through his long fingers was slight but unmistakable. He could imagine what story his eyes must tell too, he'd seen it often enough in the eyes of others. That dark sliver of desperation, something frantic and primal, and however good he'd become at disguising it he knew Herrick of all people would see it there, deep in whatever was left of his soul - hunger, all-consuming hunger.

One thing was certain, while his old comrade-in-arms would not be impressed with his abstinence, it would always be the lies and evasions that mattered more in the end. And Mitchell had been accumulating quite a collection of those for some time now. Little ones - _yes, __of __course __I'm __up __for __a __feed __tonight, __see __you __later, __mate_ - and big ones, very big ones.

Mitchell pulled on his heavy boots and shrugged his shoulders into the black leather jacket. Reaching into a pocket he drew out his sunglasses and slammed them over his eyes. There was no point wallowing in it any longer – he had been running on borrowed time and now time had run out, it had to be dealt with. No excuses.

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><p>It was a long walk from the hotel towards Mitchell's tiny flat buried down a grubby backstreet near the city centre, but it was a crisp, sunny morning and he wanted to be on the move. A small detour took him to the railway arches close to Temple Meads station. The light couldn't penetrate this far and the air was damp and rank. A sudden chill hit the back of his neck and he pulled up the collar of his jacket, partly obscuring his face from any passers-by. Not that he needed to bother with that. There were only a handful of people down here and they were either sleeping or so far out of it that they wouldn't recognise their own reflections.<p>

Mitchell scanned the scene. With the unerring instinct that came from decades of action it didn't take him long to select the most vulnerable target. He walked with a steady tread towards a man lying against a wall behind an oil-drum, almost obscured by a roll of blankets and a woolen hat. The man didn't react as Mitchell crouched down by his side.

"Here, mate, d'you need any cigarettes? I'm quitting, do me a favour - you take them".

The man raised himself on an elbow, his squinting eyes trying to focus through the haze of stale drink on the packet held out towards him. As he leant across Mitchell could see the faded combat jacket and glanced down to see battered old army boots. A soldier, he thought. That made sense, there were plenty of soldiers who ended up destitute on the streets. Which conflict, he wondered for a second, Iraq, maybe even the Falklands, this guy showed all the signs of having lived this life for a very long time.

Even as Mitchell relaxed his control he had time to hear the croaked 'thanks...' before his hand came down over the soldier's mouth and fangs pushed through the fragile skin of human neck and he instantly felt the rush. The blood was thin and acrid, but Christ, still so good. He tightened his grip on the soldier's head, twisting it painfully so that the flow was stronger, faster. Suddenly it hit the back of his throat with a sensation that flooded every cell of his body. The universe flashed hot and red. It still wasn't enough. His fingernails dug into scalp as he started to suck - he had to have more. The soldier managed to raise an arm and pull at the hand that covered his face, a last fight-back. Through the haze of his release, Mitchell felt the hand clawing at him start to weaken. The suffocation would get this one before the blood loss could. With a groan that started deep in his throat Mitchell drew his head back and let the man's head drop to the ground. Enough, he dragged himself back from the pleasure, that's enough.

He reached over the prone body to pick up the cigarette packet, there was no need to leave any fingerprints lying around. "Dog eat dog, that never changes" he murmured, "you know all about survival too, my friend, but our luck always runs out in the end". Then he stood up unsteadily, moving his gaze away from the body at his feet, glancing at the dark green woolen hat lying next to the bloodied head. He could still sense the faintest beat of the soldier's heart, trying to fight on. It's in the lap of the gods, Mitchell told himself as he stepped back, let fate decide.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth and hands. It had been an efficient feed, less than two minutes, the work of an expert - and no cleaning up required.

He walked back up to the sunlight, his long legs striding out, putting as much distance as he could between himself and his prey. Maybe this time he could last longer. The blood was just about the least sustaining you could get, but yeah, maybe three weeks this time. At least the soldier had served two purposes, providing the blood he had no choice but to take, and the fresh, living blood he needed to stand any chance of keeping Herrick in the dark about last night. Win-Win, he taunted himself with vicious sarcasm.

But even as the new blood invigorated his veins, the old sense of euphoria was already beginning to fade. He paused, took a cigarette from the packet grasped in his fist and lit it as fast as he could. His hands were steady as he shielded the flame from the cold breeze. Drawing in the comfort of the familiar smoke he pulled his shoulders back and set off across the city.

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><p><em>Sunday 4 pm. <em>

Mitchell took the time to look around the street. He waited for his senses to register anything off-key, but everything was calm and frighteningly normal. A couple of cars were getting their Sunday afternoon wash on the drive, the hum of lawnmowers echoed across the neat back gardens, dogs and kids made the most of the afternoon sunshine. The houses curved around the small cul de sac, pretty much undistinguishable from each other. _Two-or-three bedrooms, double aspect living room, quality kitchen fittings_... the sales blurb could write itself. The Volvo looked supremely out of place sitting outside Herrick's house, and a few of the local kids were admiring it as Mitchell brushed past to ring the bell. The sooner he was out of here the better. Nothing about him fitted and that just drew attention he didn't want.

"Right on time. Good. Come on in." Herrick ushered Mitchell into the living room. It had been a few months since his one and only visit, and everything looked the same. The same except for the plush new carpet which was a rich, dark red. Mitchell smiled to himself, that was Herrick - always planning ahead. It didn't take much imagination to guess why the carpet had been replaced, probably for the same reason as was needed after his last visit.

The furniture was good and comfortable, but sparse. The only sign of Herrick's naturally more baroque tastes was a highly decorated dark wood cabinet standing awkwardly in the corner of the living room, at odds with the simple lines in evidence everywhere else. Mitchell knew that Herrick owned at least one of the far more glamorous Clifton townhouses just a few miles away, and suspected that he might own more. Living in one of those would have been much more to Herrick's taste, but ever the pragmatist this had to be sacrificed. What middle-ranking police officer could afford that kind of luxury? Avoid the questions, stay under the radar, blend in. Anyway, there was an added advantage to renting these anonymous boxes and moving on every couple of years, after all if a few house-guests seemed to disappear along the way, who'd notice?

"Coffee for you," Herrick said as he handed over a fine white china mug, "after the amount of vodka you managed to put away last night you should be hungover for a month."

"I'm not too bad considering," Mitchell took the mug with a grateful smile, and sat down on the grey leather sofa "but my car had better be bloody spotless" he added with a widening grin. Herrick did not take up the conversation and expand on his own Saturday night conquests, instead he settled himself into the closest armchair. Despite his precautions Mitchell couldn't prevent his body from tensing.

"My God Mitchell. That challenge of yours was clearly much less fragrant than she appeared! How drunk did you have to get her before she agreed to leave the bar with you? It's still coming off you in waves, old son."

The smile lifted the corner of Mitchell's mouth. "Oh she was fragrant enough at the beginning of the night, believe me, after that… well, things got a lot more interesting."

Herrick leant forward and inhaled slightly "Mmm, there's more than alcohol going on there. You've been very naughty" he actually licked his lips. "I'd keep a low profile for a few more hours if I were you, not everyone can tolerate your excesses, you know."

Keen to end this line of discussion while he was ahead, Mitchell drank deeply from his mug "Yeah. Maybe. So, why am I here?"

"Ah yes. You see Mitchell, I need to keep an eye on someone, a very close eye indeed. Thus, I have a job for you."

"Fine. What is it?"

"It's in Bristol - in a solicitor's office."

At risk of choking on his coffee, Mitchell snorted in disbelief. "A solicitor? You seriously want me to go and work in some law firm's offices? Herrick, you know what those places are like. It'll be all polished marble and wall to wall mirrors. Even if I'm just the cleaner they'll notice. Everyone will be fuckin' freaking out within five minutes of me walking in the door."

"It's not a cleaning job..."

"Say again? Look, whatever else you've got in mind I haven't worn a suit since the sixties, and I'm not about to start now. Not even for you mate." He started to laugh in earnest.

In contrast, any amusement had drained from Herrick's face. "This is not optional Mitchell. I need someone on the inside that I can trust, and who's able to do whatever's necessary. Someone who can take the initiative and not raise suspicions. Surely you don't imagine I should trust this to Seth. Or Marco. I'd send them in to check out a prison, possibly, but they wouldn't last a day on the other side of the law. They'd probably try to nick all the staplers on the first morning and get thrown out."

"Can't you do it yourself? This is far more your kind of thing."

"This requires more than dropping in occasionally for a quick chat, so I can't put in the time it needs. Hard though it is for you to remember, I already have gainful employment. As I said, I need someone on the inside. How's your Spanish?"

"My what?" Mitchell was liking the sound of this less and less "My Spanish? It was only ever crap at best, you know that, not that I can remember any of it. And even if I could it would sound as if I'm a refugee from some classic movie, I haven't used it since… when would it have been…?"

"Spring 1939. Don't worry, I'm kidding. You'll just have a little light reading. Use the odd phrase, mutter something about Bolivian Spanish being very different and you'll be fine."

"You are still kidding, aren't you?" Mitchell raised one dark eyebrow and waited.

"Somewhat. The truth is you just have to be there as much as is needed, but it helps to have a believable enough cover story, and therefore you will be a lowly dogsbody employed temporarily to assist Miles Chadwick with a particularly tricky immigration case involving a South American client. Hypothetically speaking. All you'll really need to do is look busy occasionally and drink lots of coffee. You won't even have to wear a suit, I promise."

"Chadwick. Never heard of him. Is he a newcomer?"

"He's not a vampire Mitchell, and that's one reason why you'll have to tread very carefully. Do not fuck this up. Now listen."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks again to Toby Whithouse and the BBC for creating such wonderful characters. I'm just borrowing some of them for a short time, I promise to give them back._

_Thanks for reading and for the reviews – they really are greatly appreciated. __Here is the next chapter and I'd love to hear what you think – good or bad!_

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><p>"<strong>Innocence, once lost, can never be regained."<strong>

_Chapter 3 / Turner Road_

'Oh no, not again', Rachel threw herself out of her warm and cosy bed, cursing as she rushed for the shower. She could vaguely remember turning off the alarm at seven thirty, and murmuring something to herself about two more minutes, and now all of a sudden it was eight forty-two exactly. Her work colleagues were wonderful, absolutely the best on the planet, and they wouldn't bat an eyelid when she rolled up an hour late. For some reason they found her famed ability for not being able to get up in the morning amusing, telling her it was fine, especially as she rarely left the office until late into the evenings. She was harder on herself though, the first hour was always busy, especially on a Monday, and she should be there.

Ten minutes later she stood in front of the mirror, dismayed at what she saw. Most of her family managed to look chic and elegant without even trying. Louisa seemed to put on one coat of red lipstick and instantly looked like a movie star. How did she do that? Rachel's shirt was already just a bit crumpled despite having been ironed last night, and her hair... she sighed in resignation and pulled back her dark brown waves, twisting them into a knot. It would have to do. Tossing her overflowing handbag over her shoulder and grabbing the nearest coat she made it out of the door at one minute to nine.

Thank goodness today it didn't take long for her to drive from her house in the leafy part of the city into the centre. Turner Road was at the run-down end of the high street and there was usually somewhere to park close by the office.

A smattering of applause broke out as she walked through the door. Giving a little curtsy in acknowledgement she laughed and threw her handbag onto the floor next to her desk. "Not bad," Barry called across, "you're here before ten. That means you're early!" He picked up a file and his denim jacket and walked over to lean his tall lanky frame against the edge of her desk. His smile was always infectious and his good humour made light of a massive workload.

"Sorry to love you and leave you, Rach, but I've got to get over to the hospital. Miles is showing the new guy the ropes, and wants you to take over while he's in court. Mitchell his name is. Mitchell, um... damn, I can't remember his surname. Anyway, I'll catch you later." He was out of the door before she could even ask him how his weekend had gone. She wanted to know all about that hot date he'd been trying to be so casual about. He's a star, she thought, let's hope the date had appreciated how lucky she was to have landed him.

The new guy - she'd forgotten all about him. Miles had told her that an old contact of his was sending someone round to help him out on a case. What a pain, Rachel thought as she switched on her computer, with a caseload you could drown in and no doubt more waiting for her in her inbox the last thing she needed was to waste her time babysitting this Mitchell. Then again, however much he tried to hide it from her, she knew Miles was worried about the case he was working on, and any extra help could only take some of the strain off him. Rachel was becoming increasingly worried. He didn't usually get stressed by his work, but something was different this time. She wished he'd confide in her more, but he just wouldn't let her in.

A huge mug of tea suddenly appeared in front of her.

''I'm sure you haven't eaten any breakfast, so you'll be needing this." That was Kurshida, caring and motherly and with a mind like a steel trap. By rights she should be running a multinational corporate law firm, but instead here she was, volunteering on Mondays when the centre was at it's busiest and looking after the flotsam and jetsam that came in through the door with calm efficiency. The stream of people facing eviction notices, debt, homelessness, deportation, abuse, were in the best possible hands with her.

"Miles is setting up Mitchell in the empty office" she said "and I'm just moving the files in there now. I think I should warn you, mind, he's a bit of a looker this one. I don't think he's quite your type though, sweetie". Before Rachel had a chance to quiz her further about what exactly her type was supposed to be, the phone rang - again - and Kurshida rushed over to take the call "Turner Road Community Law Centre, how can I help you?"

The sound of voices drew her attention to the back of the office. Miles was showing the new man around. Kurshida had been right. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders and slim hips, he moved gracefully between the desks, like a cat. He had dark hair, nearly black, the curls were pushed back from his face, just brushing his collar. She dispassionately noted his good looks his black jeans and black shirt. Yep. He was a looker alright, but not her type - though she could think of a few friends who'd want to eat him for breakfast, poor guy. To tell the truth, she liked someone a little more sunny and a little less dark-and-brooding-looking. It was lucky that Kurshida had decided that this Mitchell could do with a bit of mothering, because at least that would leave her free to get on with her work.

* * *

><p>Mitchell walked to the door of the windowless office waiting for Miles to return. Turner Road Community Law Centre was nothing like the gleaming solicitor's office he had been dreading. No wonder Herrick had a twinkle in his eye when telling Mitchell that he really must polish his one good pair of shoes. At least he had stopped short of suggesting a decent shave and a tie, but only just. The old bastard.<p>

The office he had been given, no scratch that, the cupboard he had been squeezed into was barely big enough to contain the desk and the pile of files that just kept coming. He leant his shoulder against the door frame and a smile raised a corner of his mouth as he took in the equally unimpressive main office in front of him. Three desks and what looked like a thousand filing cabinets were crammed in. A small interview room sat off to the side, and then there was the kitchen and Miles' office. That was it. No polished marble or wall to wall mirrors here. In fact there were no mirrors at all, and no real wood to polish either by the look of it. No-one was paying much attention to him, they were too busy and he blended in just fine.

All in all it was a vampire's safe-haven and he felt his body relaxing, maybe he could do this after all.

There had been a new arrival since he had turned up this morning, and Mitchell took his time assessing her - medium height, slight, probably late-twenties, dark jeans and a pale blue shirt, with unruly hair already escaping from a loose knot. She glanced up at him as if she had felt his appraisal and her wide hazel-green eyes scrutinised him back with some ferocity. Interesting, but not too interesting, Mitchell thought. Yes. He could do this just fine.

"That's Rachel, my daughter" Miles said as he handed Mitchell the last of the files, "She works here full-time and keeps everything going while I flit between this and my private practice up in Clifton." He lowered his voice and turned to face Mitchell, "I must ask you to treat her with total discretion and respect, please. I would like you to give me your word on that." Despite the politeness of the words, there was a new sharpness in his tone.

Mitchell didn't bother to ask what he meant, just nodded his consent, "of course, absolutely, you can trust me with her."

The look on Miles' face told Mitchell that was the very last thing he was prepared to do, but he didn't pursue the matter. "Mr Herrick wants you to check over the preparations for this shipment" he handed over the file. "Everything is completely in order, but feel free to make any enquiries you consider necessary. I have a case in court this week but I will call in when I can. In the meantime Rachel will get you anything you need, or sort out a computer for you if you want one, but I would be grateful if you could try not to disrupt the work of the Centre too much."

Mitchell sat back in the office chair and watched as Miles took his leave. He looked older than his years and tired, but distinguished in his way. The suit was expensive, the shoes were shining, and there wasn't a grey hair out of place. He was every inch the lawyer.

Mitchell pulled the file towards him and started to read.

Despite the endless cups of coffee and the sandwich Kurshida brought him at lunchtime, Mitchell was bored out of his mind by four o'clock. By now he had read the file a hundred times and couldn't see anything out of place. The shipment of carpets had successfully made its way from Bolivia to Brazil and had left Sao Paulo by container ship days ago - on time with no delays and no problems with the export license or border controls. He'd been so bored he'd even conscientiously telephoned the Brazilian contact noted in the papers to double-check all the details. Miles wouldn't thank him for running up that phone-bill. He was at a loss to see what Herrick had been so concerned about. Surely he wasn't expected to do this every day. Was it possible for vampires to die out of pure boredom, he wondered, maybe he would set a precedent. Circling the tiny room like a very pissed off caged tiger Mitchell decided it was time to get out of there, whatever Herrick might be expecting.

The main office was humming with activity. Rachel glanced up at him briefly, a frown appearing on her forehead, and she turned her attention pointedly back to the computer screen. Fair enough, he thought. Kurshida smiled up at him while still expertly balancing the phone on her shoulder, and Mitchell found himself leaning towards her. "Cup of tea?" he whispered. She nodded with enthusiasm. Why not? he asked himself, she'd been kind to him. Despite Herrick's melodramatic warnings about 'fraternising', what could it hurt to make one cup.

He was still chatting to Kurshida twenty minutes later, and knew far more than he needed about her children and the local schools, when Barry walked in. There was something in his demeanour that telegraphed his distress. He went straight to his chair and sat down, shoulders hunched. Rachel left her computer for the first time that day, and hurried over to him. She rubbed his arm in concern, "Barry, tell me."

"It's Robbie."

"Oh no." Kurshida obviously knew instantly what had happened, but Mitchell could see that Rachel was still confused.

"You remember me talking about Robbie," Barry started to explain, "he spent some time at St. Chris' hostel and I got to know him a bit when I was helping out there. He was trying to get himself together, you know, post traumatic stress disorder, but he fell off the wagon a couple of months ago and pretty much disappeared. I got the call from the hospital this morning, he was found under the arches in a terrible state and taken in."

Mitchell could feel the sudden panic rise in him. It felt as if the ground had lurched under his feet, and he grasped the edge of the desk. When would these three people turn to look at him and know, just know... He pushed the fear back down and forced his rational mind to take over. It was fine, they didn't know - they never knew - he just needed to keep quiet and keep his head down. Everything would be fine.

"I managed to get to see him, and sit with him, but he was so weak he just couldn't hold on. I sat there and watched him die."

Rachel rubbed his arm again gently, "I'm glad you were there", she said "he didn't die alone, that's important, you were there."

Barry straightened his shoulders "They said he OD'd, but he must have been beaten up too because his head and throat were in a really bad way, like he'd been mangled somehow. No-one seemed to care about that. He was just another drugged-up vagrant to the police. Some sanctimonious little git in a uniform told me to calm down and mind my own business, they'd take care of things. I bet they bloody won't."

"Oh god Barry, I'm so sorry", Rachel put her arms around him for a moment, "look, go home, call your girlfriend and have an evening together."

"Girlfriend? Oh, no, that didn't work out. But I will go home, I think it's time for beer and pizza and a couple of mates round." He didn't look convinced by his own words, but after hugging Rachel and Kurshida, and shaking Mitchell's hand, he headed out of the office. Mitchell could almost feel his hand burning.

"You go too, Kurshida, Mitchell and I can lock up later." Rachel said firmly without giving Mitchell any chance to disagree. All he wanted to do was run, get out of there, but it seemed he'd have to stick it out a little while longer.

As soon as the phones were redirected for the evening and the place was quiet, Rachel walked over to Mitchell and fixed a cool green gaze directly on his face. It had been a long time since a woman had made him feel this uncomfortable. "I'm sorry about your friend..." he started to say, but she cut him short.

"Would you mind coming into Miles' office for a minute?" she asked with steely politeness.

"Sure."

The office was a little bit bigger and a little bit grander than the others. Along with the desk there were a couple of comfortable chairs and a small coffee table in the corner. "Please, sit", Rachel gestured towards one of the chairs. Curious about where this was leading Mitchell did as he was asked. As she sat in the chair opposite he waited, this was her game.

He watched her reach down into the depths of her handbag and pull something out which she rested in her lap, his eyebrows raised with amusement and he leant back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"You're one of them, aren't you." she said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"One of what, exactly?"

"I've been thinking about it all day. It was the name my father used, the man he said had recommended you, it was an unusual name and I recognised it but couldn't remember why. It's been going round and round in my head. I ended up searching through some of our old files on the computer, and there he was. That's when I realised what's going on here. You're one of them."

"Errrr. I'm really sorry Rachel, but I don't know what you're talking about." He fixed the innocent smile on his face and tilted his head a little in apparent puzzlement.

"OK." Her voice didn't waver and she held out whatever she'd retrieved from her bag towards him, "could you look into this for me?"

Jesus Christ. Mitchell stared down at the mirror in her hand. For a moment the world stopped as the two of them looked at each other. The silence stretched out as neither made a move.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Mitchell said softly, not taking his eyes from hers. He heard the intake of her breath and felt the sudden rush of her uncontrollable heartbeat. Oh yes, she was afraid. He leant forward, feeling the spark of excitement, the heightening of senses stirring deep within him, unbidden. This wasn't hunger, it was the darkest of desires, it was the exquisite anticipation held in that moment just before bringing down your prey, it was the expectation of lust satisfied.

"Of course I'm afraid of you. I know what you are, I know what you do. I've grown up knowing you. You're part of my life, and I'm scared because right now you're working out whether or not you should tear my throat out."

* * *

><p>It was turning colder as Barry got off the bus and started to walk up the hill towards his home. His plaid shirt and denim jacket were not much protection from the icy wind that was blowing down the hill into his face. He wrapped his long arms around himself and put his head down. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow he'd pluck up the courage to ask Rachel out. Not a date, just a meal, or a drink, or a coffee. Shit, anything. Watching Robbie die like that, just slipping away, had made him think about a few things and one of them was Rachel. There's never enough time, and he had to stop wasting it.<p>

"Hiya Barry, mate."

The voice startled him. "Yeah?" he said automatically. Looking up he saw a man with short cropped hair and sharp features walking directly towards him. There was a swagger in his walk and his long dark coat was buttoned up to the neck. Barry was sure he'd never met him before.

"You really shouldn't have done it" the man said, shaking his head.

"Sorry? Done what? Do I know you ..." Barry glanced around. There was no-one else on the street. He started to move towards the kerb in case he might have to make a run for it.

Cutting off his path the man moved quickly, his leather-gloved hands grabbed Barry's arms and pushed him back against the wall to the gardens. "You shouldn't have kicked up a fuss in the hospital. You see, we don't like that. It pisses us off."

He should have fought back, or yelled for help, anything, but as soon as he saw the man's eyes turn as black as the night he was paralysed. Then there was pain.

And then it was too late.

* * *

><p>"Tell me that's <em>not<em> what you're thinking', Rachel challenged him.

Mitchell tore his red hot gaze away from her eyes, stood up and started to pace the room, running one hand through his hair as he prowled. His mind churned as he tried to make sense of what was happening, his earlier ease had drained away and he felt the bars of an unexpected cage closing in around him.

"If you know so much about us ... vampires ... you'll know that I can't tell you that" he threw back over his shoulder.

"Well at least you're honest about it. So, what have you decided, are you going to hurt me?"

Mitchell stopped in surprise and looked down at her, sitting so still with her hands clenched in her lap, her clear eyes taking in his face without flinching. His brows knitted together and it was a few endless seconds before he answered.

"Of course I'm not. I'm just here to do a job, you're safe with me."


	4. Chapter 4

_As always, thanks to Toby Whithouse and the BBC for creating such wonderful characters. I'm just borrowing them and promise to give them back soon._

_Thanks for reading, and huge thanks to those kind enough to leave reviews, it really is appreciated._

_Here is the next chapter and I'd love to hear what you think – whether it's good or bad!_

* * *

><p><strong>"This horror will grow mild, this darkness light"<strong>

_Chapter 4/ Traffic_

* * *

><p>"You're safe with me."<p>

Even as the words left his lips Mitchell felt the hollowness of them hit him hard in the stomach. He stole another look at the young woman sitting so still in the chair in front of him, assessing him with her cool hazel-green eyes. The tiny lift to her eyebrows told him Rachel recognised this was a lie just as clearly as he did.

"You're safe with me now."

"Safe. For now" she whispered, as if to herself.

Then for the first time Rachel smiled. Her smile was hesitant and wary, but it was real. Mitchell felt the last feathered edges of red mist fall away from him. Apparently it was true, she was safe with him for now. He remained where he stood, afraid that any sudden movement could shatter this fragile acceptance between them. It seemed some kind of a deal had been struck, this was her game, she had started it and the next step had to be hers.

Rachel dropped the mirror back into the depths of her bag, stood up from the chair and stepped towards him taking a deep breath. He felt himself involuntarily edging back a little in surprise as she held out her hand "I'm Rachel Chadwick, I'm a lawyer here".

"Mitchell, vampire", he took her hand and shook it with an odd feeling of formality.

"Hmm. Vampire. So that's all you are then. Nothing else? If you don't mind I'd like to know a bit more about you than just that. For instance I'd quite like to know why the hell you are here in my office messing up our filing system." Her tone was teasing but Mitchell did not feel the need to share anything with her. He folded his arms, sending a pretty clear signal in her direction that he wasn't going to be quite so easily won over.

He was relieved when Rachel didn't press the question, but instead glanced towards the door. "Anyway," she shrugged "the truth is I'm really hungry and there's this great snack place just down the road. So, are you coming?" she picked up her bag, "my treat".

He shouldn't. He knew he really shouldn't. Herrick would roll his eyes and mutter on darkly about 'fraternising' and the dangers of 'collaboration'. There'd be more remarks about his recklessness around pretty human girls – getting in too deep until inevitably he succumbed leaving a shit-awful mess to clean up. But this one confused him, and surely it would be useful to find out what she knew about vampires. So that made it a necessity, not an indulgence. He nodded.

They walked the five minutes to the tiny restaurant at the corner of Turner Road side by side and in complete silence, Mitchell wrapping his arms across his chest and sheltering his hands under them. God, it was getting so cold he could see his breath in the air.

Judging by the flurry of welcome kisses showered on Rachel by the waiter as soon as she stepped in through the door this had to be a favourite place of hers - cheap, cheerful and friendly - though Mitchell couldn't help but notice the viciously disapproving look the waiter threw in his direction as he showed them to a quiet corner at the back of the small room. Rachel smiled across as they slid either side of the table nestled in behind a vine-clad partition.

"Don't worry about Sandrino, he's been nagging me to ask Barry out on a date for months, so he's not pleased to see you at all. To be honest, I don't think it's because he's a romantic. I think the guys in here are running a book on when Barry and I get it together and he's worried that he's going to lose his bet."

"I'll have to see what I can do to help with that then." Mitchell said with a grin "I might even place a bet myself."

"Don't waste your money, real life stops me getting anywhere near a social life, and Barry's too good a friend to risk screwing things up like I normally do."

After Sandrino brought them two beers and slices of piping hot pizza, Mitchell had a chance to take in the surroundings. They were slightly separate from the handful of other early diners, far enough away to talk without being heard, but not so hidden that he could get away with hurting her. Clever girl, he thought, getting him out of a deserted windowless office and into a public space before annoying him with more questions, or threatening him with whatever she had hidden in that bottomless handbag. There were no mirrors down this end of the room to freak out the waiter either. She must have known that when she asked for this table. Also interesting.

"Well, I dragged you here so I suppose I should go first" she said, eyeing his reaction over the rim of her beer glass. That made him smile a little and he settled back, against all his better judgment he was actually enjoying this.

"The truth is I don't remember the first time I met a vampire. I'm told it was on the day I was born, so that's not surprising, but I can remember the first time I found out for certain as if it was yesterday. There had always been a stream of people coming to visit my father at any time of the day and night, never bothering to speak to me. They'd huddle together in our front room, and afterwards I'd never seen them again. It was just an ordinary part of our daily life. Then one evening my father was delayed, and instead of ignoring me one of these guests decided to talk to me instead. It felt strange to even be speaking to him at first. He asked lots of inconsequential questions about my school, but was so obviously bored with my answers it was laughable. Eventually I snapped something back at him. Being fourteen made me brave, stroppy and terrifyingly naïve. He really looked at me then, into me. It made me shiver. For a second all I could think about was running away. Then out of the blue he asked if I could play cards.

"I can still see him, sitting across the little round table from me. He was elegant and softly-spoken, in his late thirties at a guess, tall with short dark-blond hair, pale skin and grey eyes that seemed to go on forever, as if they'd seen everything in the world. Soon I was entranced and he made me laugh."

"Did you ask his name or where he was from?"

"No, but he spoke perfect English, maybe a bit too perfect because there was the touch of an accent in there which was so slight I couldn't quite place it. Anyway, I was too busy being mercilessly teased while he taught me how to play poker to have the chance to quiz him."

Mitchell snorted into his beer. "Jesus. Of course it had to be poker, a vampire wouldn't dream of teaching a fourteen year old anything else. Like snap, maybe."

Rachel's smile returned, softening her face. "He was a good teacher, though he made fun of me for not being able to disguise my hand. He decided I needed to learn how to keep my face impassive, as if a poker face was the most important life skill I could master."

"Well, you played a good one on me, sweetheart." Mitchell liked the low, soft sound of her laughter.

"Yeah, well, I guess it turned out he was right about that."

"So when did you realise he wasn't exactly in his thirties? Did he let slip about the time he sat on a hillside and watched the Charge of the Light Brigade or something?"

"No. My father came back. I'd seen him worried before, but never terrified. He remained polite and in control, but his fear at seeing me with this man was palpable, and that scared me. Later that night after the man left Dad took me into the front room. He sat me down in the brown leather chair that was too big and too uncomfortable for me, and told me everything…"

"You mean he told you that he's been in the pay of vampires for years, helping shield us from exposure, tipping us off about the destitute who come into the law centre with their strange stories of monsters in the night, giving us visas and identity papers so we can get jobs, or just get away. Helping pillars of the community like Herrick bury the bones. And the payoff is his grand townhouse in leafy Clifton, and dragging you into this little horror show too."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Mitchell regretted them. He watched the shutters crashing down across Rachel's face and all the warmth draining away. She straightened up. "You could say that."

"You're not alone," his voice much gentler, "there's a whole army of people out there helping to keep us secret. How do you think we could ever survive without them?"

"I wouldn't know much about that. Dad's kept so many secrets from me, including you and your boss. What exactly is going on?"

"Nothing. At least, I dunno."

" 'I dunno' isn't much of an answer, Mitchell."

"But I don't. You know which files I've been looking at, they're not exactly a secret, so your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps Herrick just wants me out of the way for a bit so he's burying me in pointless paperwork. Not even vampires escape paperwork. Y'know we probably spend more time..."

"I don't believe you. You're a smart guy, if you really don't know then I'm sure you've got a theory or two."

"Nope. 'Fraid not."

"OK. Well I guess that's the end of _that_ conversation…" before Rachel could finish, a bell rang from under the table, making her jump. "Oh shit, what now?" she dragged her phone from the depths of her handbag and checked the message alert. "Sorry, but I've got to go. It's Barry, he's gone to stay with his brother up in Burnley. Robbie's death must have shaken him up even worse than I thought. I'll have to go and arrange for the main Law Centre to take over our advice surgery for a few days. I wish he'd phoned me instead of just texting … I'd like to talk to him … hope he's alright … right, um, goodnight then. I'll see you tomorrow Mitchell, or whenever …" her voice trailed off as she pushed the barely touched pizza away, grabbed her coat and headed over to the till to settle the bill.

Leaning back Mitchell watched her through the window as she rushed back up the street, wrapping her overlong scarf around her neck. She didn't seem the type to let things go that easily. If he wasn't giving her the answers then he was pretty sure she'd keep going until she had a theory or two of her own. It was looking like he'd have to keep a very close eye on her from now on.

"Well look at you, getting all cosy with the boss's pretty daughter. Careful Mitchell, we wouldn't want to see you making a mess of her."

Mitchell looked up to see a man with a buttoned-up long black coat, tightly cropped hair and just the hint of a sneer on his lips hovering at the edge of his table.

"Nice to see you too, Seth. What are you doing here? Can't keep away?" Mitchell stood and leant slightly forward over the table, taking pleasure from the quick flicker of alarm that passed across the other vampire's face. "Surely you're not following me around. Again." He reached to pick up his jacket just as Seth put down the mobile phone he'd been carrying and took off shiny black leather gloves to reach for a slice of pizza.

"Of course I'm not following you, sunshine. But waste not, want not," he grinned broadly, choosing the biggest slice "not that I'm hungry anymore".

"Ah shit. Have you been feeding again already? Christ, Seth. There's a limit to how many locals we can disappear in a week you know." Mitchell sighed.

"This one was a bit of damage limitation by order of our esteemed leader. The guy picked the wrong death to get all suspicious about, poor sod. Not staying Mitchell? It's good pizza."

"I'm fine, I'm not hungry. I need a fag though. See you later."

Mitchell heard Seth whisper behind him as he walked away, "Oh I think you're very hungry, mate."

He walked faster, as if that could stop it being true.

* * *

><p>-ooOOoo-<p>

East London glistened in the darkness as the rain hammered down on the wall of glass window in front of him. It was beautiful in its grimy, heaving, sinful way. He'd been in the city for nearly three decades now, and it was the closest to a home he'd had for a long time. Sure, he used to travel all over Europe, but it wasn't so easy to get across borders these days. There was so much to organise in advance now just to be able to slip through all the security cameras. He missed the old spontaneity.

He tossed the car-keys in his hand again. Having been left in charge of this operation he should really get one of his men to drive him to Bristol, that would provide the expected level of authority and gravitas, but he preferred the idea of driving himself. It would give him the chance to mix business with pleasure, and he always thought of Bristol with pleasure.

Maybe she'd be there, it'd been a very long time.

The only down-side he could see was having to do business with Herrick again. There was some agitation in the ranks here in London, rumours were circulating that Herrick was getting some big ideas way above his pay grade. Still, at least he was good at keeping things clean and tidy and running like clockwork, skills which mattered when handling a package like this.

Thinking of Herrick and his penchant for the proper rules of etiquette reminded him that he'd better feed before the journey. It wouldn't do to arrive and start munching away on the local population too quickly. He picked up the phone, "Irène, could you arrange for a person to be brought up. Nothing special, bring whoever is closest to the end."

He glanced down at the details on the computer screen before him. Turner Road Law Centre. Really? That made him smile. Long, long ago he had met a vampire who had known Richard Turner - pillar of 17th century Bristolian society, parliamentarian, respected slave trader, mass murderer of epic standing. The first vampire to live a double life, undiscovered. The deception was so complete it seemed the good people of the city had named a road after him to show their appreciation. How nice of them.

It was sobering to think how little had really changed when you peer at what lies beneath. After all, here he was in the 21st century, carrying on the tradition. Maybe it wasn't called the slave trade any more, but what else should you call the trafficking of human beings trapped in the belly of a ship as cargo travelling half-way across the globe to fulfill the endless needs of his well-heeled clientele here in oh-so-civilised Europe?

The door opened behind him, "Christophe? Is this what you need?"

He turned to look as a young man was brought in. Irène was gentle as she led him forwards. Christophe could see the eerie pallor beneath the dark skin, there was no question he was already near death. The wounds and bruises on his neck and hands showed that he had fought back before, but there was no fight left in him now as his eyes couldn't focus and he swayed slightly as Irène held his arm.

"Where were you from, son?" Christophe asked as he moved slowly behind so his victim wouldn't see the death blow coming. There was no answer. Where did most refugees come from these days, Iraq probably, escaping the horrors of home to seek a better world and finding … this... There was a sudden crack of a neck breaking, it was brutal, but at least it was quick and he buried his head in the silky, metallic depths as he drew out the very last of the blood and then lowered the body to the floor with a soft sigh.

Christophe walked back to stare out of the window once again, wiping his hands on the small towel Irène had thoughtfully given him, then running them through his short dark-blond hair. Where was he? Oh yes, it would be interesting to see whether that Irish guy had settled back into the fold. Maybe he'd prefer to come back to London instead, he would fit in much better here. After all, the dust had settled over the whole Josie affair, and let's be honest, he wasn't exactly the first vampire to have given the 'let's pretend to be human' thing a go at sometime or another. Hell, even Christophe himself had tried it a couple of times. The only thing one could really hold against the guy was that he had been so good at it for so long, and that took real strength. Besides, he had proved in the past that he could be quite an asset - under the right circumstances.

Yes. Fifteen years was too long to have stayed away, and Bristol was always a pleasure.

* * *

><p>-ooOOoo-<p>

Mitchell sucked in the last of the comforting smoke from his cigarette as he sheltered from the biting wind in the shop doorway. He felt so cold, but at least the smoke seemed to warm him up a bit from the inside. He glanced back at Sandrino's restaurant, wishing he could step back into the warmth rather than heading back to his chilly little flat. Fuck Seth, what was it about him that always put Mitchell into such a fuckin' foul mood. Dropping the cigarette butt on the floor and stamping on it vigorously with his foot, he rubbed his hands together for a second, then hunched his shoulders a little and started back up the road towards his car.

As he passed the end of Turner Road he raised his eyes, looking up from the ground, only to see Rachel again, lit under the spotlight of a streetlamp while she locked up the Law Centre behind her and then walking across to her parking place clutching a pile of files. No surprise that she'd decided to check those files and come up with a theory or two overnight. Damn, he'd been spot on, now he'd have to keep going back to bloody Turner Road to find out what she was up to.

Just as Rachel's car pulled away from the kerb and Mitchell started to turn away, his attention was caught by a figure stepping out from the shadows and clambering quickly into a nondescript dark car parked just behind, taking off with a small squeak of tyres as it sped to catch up.

Oh Christ, Mitchell felt a sudden churn of panic in the pit of his stomach, Seth hadn't been following him after all, he'd been following Rachel.

This was definitely not good.


	5. Chapter 5

_As always, thanks to Toby Whithouse and the BBC for creating such wonderful characters. I'm just borrowing them and promise to give them back soon._

_Thanks for reading, and huge thanks to those kind enough to leave reviews, it really is appreciated._

_Here is the next chapter and I'd love to hear what you think – whether good or bad!_

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><p><strong>"Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell"<strong>

Chapter 5/ The Precipice

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><p>Christophe allowed himself a smile as he parked the car outside B. Edwards Funeral Parlour. Ah Herrick, nothing changes, always one with a taste for the gothic, you old goat.<p>

As he walked through the door in his immaculate light suit, polished shoes and good haircut it only took a second for him to realise how out of place he was among all the sombre cheap suits. A bell ringing over the door had announced his entrance with a little fanfare, and he thoroughly enjoyed taking a moment to absorb the mingled looks of admiration and fear on the faces of the few vampires sitting in the lobby. How very gratifying.

A familiar avuncular figure stood up immediately and stepped out from behind a tired old mahogany desk smiling broadly with his arms outstretched in welcome. "Christophe, how wonderful to see you, please come in."

"It's been a long time, Herrick. It's good to be back in Bristol again."

As soon as the pleasantries and introductions had been dispensed with, Christophe followed Herrick through to a more private office. He had obviously been expected to arrive at this time because a selection of refreshments was already laid out on a low table set with silver trays and crystal glasses. No detail had been overlooked.

Soon comfortably ensconced in one of the mismatched armchairs arranged around the table, he was happy to chat casually for a while about various mutual acquaintances and humour his host who was bemoaning the state of the modern world. Finally Christophe leant forward and turned the conversation towards business. 'Let's get up to date with where we are shall we?'

Listening as Herrick talked him through the Bristol-end of the operation, Christophe had to admit to himself that Herrick was the right man to have been chosen for this job after all. Everything appeared to be in proper order, and Herrick's attention to detail was immensely impressive as ever.

They had nearly finished sorting through the finer details when there was a tentative knock on the office door. Christophe looked up to watch with some amusement as the neat elderly lady with her grey hair swept up into a bun doggedly insisted on taking the leather jacket from the shoulders of a young man as she ushered him into this inner sanctum. She chuckled and nodded towards Herrick as she left, clutching the coat as if in triumph, and closed the door quietly behind her.

The young man brought a sense of energy with him, a new tension. He didn't look much really – tall and good-looking in a rather chaotic sort of way - but there was something else. The atmosphere in the room had noticeably changed. Christophe couldn't quite get a handle on him.

Christophe's interest was piqued even more when Herrick interrupted their conversation to step forward, putting his hand on the new man's shoulder and drawing him inwards towards an empty chair waiting for him. "Hello soldier. Thank you for joining us at such short notice, you have perfect timing as always. Let me introduce Christophe, I don't believe you two have met before. Christophe has kindly made the journey himself to take delivery and this is as good a time as any for you to update him. From the horse's mouth."

Herrick lent down to the table and picked up his glass, he raised it to his lips and took a delicate sip, "Oh. Mitchell's our man on the inside, so to speak."

So this is Mitchell, at last.

"My pleasure", Mitchell shook the hand Christophe extended. The three of them sat together, Mitchell angling his body away from the table between them to look more directly at Christophe. "It's good news really. Everything has gone according to plan, with no hiccups or unwelcome attention on the way. The ship is scheduled to dock on Sunday as expected and all the relevant port staff and customs officials have been confirmed on duty for the day. I checked the details this morning and there's nothing to cause concern. The driver you arranged got in touch yesterday, so he's ready to go with the container. I think this will be a straightforward pick up for you guys."

'Well that is very reassuring, Mitchell." Christophe smiled with approval. "No issues at all? How about the Law Centre contacts? Has Miles Chadwick sorted out the papers for our friend? I would like to remove her to London immediately as the flight on to Prague has been arranged for Monday evening."

"Yep. The paperwork is on file. It's all good."

"Well, congratulations, Herrick, it's good to see you running such a tight ship. Here's to Sunday." And Christophe raised his glass.

Herrick lent forward with a sudden sense of urgency. "Apologies, Mitchell, you don't have a drink, here let me get you something, it's rather pleasant." He poured a very large glass from the decanter on the silver platter in front of them and handed it directly to Mitchell, "Indeed, here's to Sunday." he grinned and raised his glass to echo the toast, his eyes fixed on his protégé.

Christophe caught the tremor that ran through Mitchell's hand as he took the glass. He took another sip of his own and watched more carefully. Mitchell seemed transfixed by the contents. Good lord, how long had it been since the lad last fed properly, Christophe mused. There was a hesitation as he raised it to his mouth, but once Mitchell started to drink the glass didn't leave his lips, he kept swallowing until it was drained. My my, the lad was starved.

* * *

><p>The details had been sorted, the arrangements double-checked, the small talk concluded, and Christophe couldn't help but raise a quizzical eyebrow as Mitchell excused himself as soon as was feasibly possible. If he could have left the room running, he probably would have.<p>

'An interesting man, your Mitchell, but you need to feed him up a bit. I'm glad to see you are very well aware of that.'

Herrick straightened his back before responding - somewhat defensively, Christophe thought, so he'd struck a nerve there. "Ah John Mitchell. Well you'll have heard all about him of course. Since he came back to Bristol I suspect he has been holding his considerable appetites on a tight rein." Herrick shook his head, whether in embarrassment or disappointment Christophe wasn't sure, maybe it was both. "Between us, it's painful to watch someone of his stature waste so much energy on such a mundane thing as food. But I learnt decades ago that the tighter I pull him in at a time like this, the more counter-productive it is. This phase won't last for long and I know for certain that he'll sort himself out very soon. He's ready, just a nudge or two at the right moment is all it will take and then he'll be fully himself again."

Christophe reached forward and poured himself another glass. The quality was passable, and the silky warmth still held enough traces of life for it to heat his senses in a very satisfactory way.

'There's no need to explain to me, Herrick, you would be surprised how many of our more impressive recruits have had a little crisis along the way - well not you, obviously - but for the rest it can be a rite of passage. We come out of it stronger, more aware of who we are.

"You have to temper the best steel to make it tougher, more resilient. It's a delicate process and if you don't do it right you end up with something that will too easily break. There's always a trade-off between the strength of a blade and its ability to reform without fracturing, so you have to be careful to get the temperature exactly right at the correct moment, and it's different for each of us.

"Rest assured, the best blades are always worth the amount of effort they require.

"Although if I can offer a gentle word of advice, as a friend. I would suggest that there are no more trips to Vienna for him."

That got Herrick's attention. Clearly he didn't know the whole sad story about Mitchell's millennium detox experiment courtesy of Carl. It seems Mitchell was keeping some very big secrets from his mentor. Now this was intriguing.

* * *

><p>Rachel had never felt so alone.<p>

She had tried to speak to Barry, but he hadn't answered any of her messages, just sent her a brief text saying he'd got to his brother's place and was fine. Since then there'd been nothing and she was getting really pissed off with him for treating her like this. She had checked his records for another number, but there was no mention of his brother, and the couple of mutual friends they had were getting the same treatment. It sounded as if he might be falling into depression, which was understandable, but still, she missed him. She couldn't speak to Kurshida or any of her friends. She felt guilty about dodging their calls but what could she possibly say? And her father seemed to be avoiding her. So for two, no, more than three days now she hadn't spoken to a single soul. She had locked the door of her house and not opened it to anyone.

It had taken until Friday afternoon for her to pull herself together enough to get showered and dressed and back to the Law Centre. It was deathly quiet in here. The sign on the door redirected clients to the City Centre Advice Bureau and the blinds were down as she sat at her desk and re-arranged the papers into neat piles in front of her.

She couldn't stop reading them. It was a kind of torture to realise how truly naïve she was. It was so blindingly obvious. One look at the information knowing the vampire community was involved and there was only one reasonable conclusion, of course they weren't importing carpets, it had to be people. What else could it be? And it all made perfect logistical sense – ship in people who simply don't exist as far as the state is concerned and then you can do anything you want with them and who's to ask any inconvenient questions.

Mitchell had said he had no theories - well that was complete bollocks.

She rubbed her exhausted eyes once again, and stared at the note in her hand that she'd found pushed under the door and nearly buried beneath the pile of post – _Call me. I don't have your details. Mitchell_ – and then his mobile number and address. She screwed it up as she picked up her phone to make a call.

"_Louisa? It's Rachel. I'm sorry to leave you a message like this, but I'm completely desperate and you're the only person I can turn to. Please call me soon. Please. Bye."_

Rachel dropped her head into her hands, the sense of shame and confusion was almost too much for her to handle. The urge to tear at her hair or scratch at her face was becoming unbearable. She might not have known the details, but that didn't mean she wasn't part of this nightmare. She wracked her memory, going over and over her work at the Law Centre, how many times had she passed on a message, or sent out an innocuous-looking letter. There was no hiding place left for her any more, so this was really what it felt like to shield vampires.

The sudden ring of her phone made her jump and she grabbed it, desperately hoping it was Louisa, but no, it was a text message from Mitchell. So it seems he'd managed to track down her details after a few days of trying after all. _'__Rachel. __Urgent __- __please __come __to __my __place, __I __think __I __know __what__'__s __going __on. __We __need __to __talk. __I__'__ll __be __there __soon. __If __you __get __there __before __me I've left __a __key __on __top __of __the __door __frame, __let __yourself __in. __Soon __as __you __can. __Mitchell__'_

She reached down to retrieve the screwed up note from the wastepaper bin and smoothed it out on her desk. So she'd even misjudged Mitchell, he was still figuring things out too, everything she did was wrong.

'You are losing it, big time' she berated herself as she stuffed the note into her pocket and snatched up her car keys.

* * *

><p>Mitchell paced his flat endlessly, round and round.<p>

He'd eaten as much food as he could find in the kitchen indiscriminately, and was already most of the way though a bottle of pretty decent red wine. It wasn't helping of course, but then he didn't expect it to. As soon as he'd accepted the blood from Herrick he knew this would be the consequence. Once triggered this hunger would rage within him for hours, days, scratching at him and growing in ferocity until it was satisfied. He could feel the clawing starting in his guts and this was just the beginning. He wouldn't leave the flat, there was still a chance that he could get through this if he just locked himself away. It had been less than a week since he'd fed from the soldier, no - be honest, killed the soldier. That wasn't very long ago so it was possible that if he stayed focused he might be able to hold on this time. He crossed to the record player stacked in the corner, put on the first record his hand touched in the cardboard box beside it and turned the volume up as high as it could go to drown out his thoughts.

Later, he sat in silence on the floor in the corner of the tiny room and watched through the grubby little window as the night fell. He listened as the streets started to fill up with people out a Friday night making their way to the bars and restaurants of the city centre. This was bloody ridiculous. He threw the empty bottle against the wall. Who was he kidding anyway, who was here to care what he did, there was no-one here to ask him, no-one here for him to explain to. It's not like he was clean any more and it would be necessary for him to feed again soon anyway. Why go on pretending it mattered whether he fed once a day or once a month? What he needed to do was just get out there, have a quick drink, and then sort out this mess with Rachel. He'd be able to concentrate properly once he'd fed, and he needed to think straight if he was going to find a way of keeping her nose out of the operation for a couple more days, because that was the only way the job would be successful for Herrick's sake - and the only way to keep her safe.

Even as he took a step towards the door, he heard a knock. Rooted to the spot he waited - it might have been his imagination. But then there was a second knock, more urgent this time. "Mitchell, are you there?"

Christ. Rachel. How had she found out where he lived? It didn't matter, stay focused, he told himself, she'd go away soon enough. But then he felt the sudden agony cleave through him. She was only yards away and he knew he wanted her. Not another faceless drunk collapsed against a pub back wall. No, he wanted her, his body demanded all of her.

To his horror he heard her scrabbling around outside the door, "ah shit" he heard her say, then "got ya". And then somehow a key turned in the lock and the door opened.

She was out of breath, slightly flushed from the cold evening air, and so fucking beautiful as she pushed the door closed behind her.

"Mitchell! I'm so sorry. I thought you were out. I hope it's alright that I let myself in, the message said that I could... Mitchell, are you OK?"

"What message? Not now Rachel, please leave, we can talk later." He turned his back and walked quickly away from her to lean against the arm of the low sofa.

"You're not OK, are you?" her voice sounded much harder as she followed him, moving closer. "Wait a minute, tell me what's happening."

He was stifling the pain, pushing it down deep into himself where it transformed into a guttural groan so wrenching he felt Rachel reach out to rub his back in some feeble human attempt to make him feel better. He turned his face to her with a snap and hissed at her "Get away from me." He knew the irises of his eyes were jet-black empty space and she stepped back as if burnt by him.

She backed towards the door, not taking her eyes off him. Oh Jesus. Thank God. She was going to run. But then he heard the key turn in the lock.

"What are you doing, Rachel you have to leave, or I have to get out of here. If I don't get out then I'll hurt you."

"I've seen this before, Mitchell, and if I let you out I know you'll kill someone."

"Christ, Rachel, don't you understand, if you don't get out of my way right now that someone is going to be you."

"And why shouldn't it be? Why is it OK to kill a stranger but not OK to kill me? We've only known each other five minutes so what's the difference? Why should I save my life by knowingly sacrificing someone else's. And it would be my choice to let it happen, my cowardice. Do you think I could _ever_ forgive myself for that? This isn't about you, it's about me, and you are not leaving this flat."

"I can't let it be you. I can't."

"Then you'll have to find a way to stop yourself."

In a hot second Mitchell lurched from desperation to fury.

"Stop myself! Fuck woman. You have no idea what that means. I spent weeks tied to a fuckin' chair stopping myself. Would you like me to describe what that was like? Because there's no way I could survive anything like that again."

"If you can hold out it will stop."

"Yeah, eventually, but I'll have torn you and everything else in this flat to pieces days before that happens."

"So is there a way to buy time, to just get you through this tonight?"

"Stop asking me."

"Could animal blood help?"

"For fuck's sake. You think I haven't tried that? What exactly are you going to offer me? Hmm? Hamsters or the family cat? No. It's a waste of time. It could distract me, buy you five minutes to get away, but you don't need that because I'm telling you to go now."

"What about artificial blood? Blood bank blood? I've heard it helps. There has to be something we can do."

"There isn't. It's too late for that. Fuck it Rachel. Stop. Get out now."

"No." She stood her ground, shaking from head to foot. "If there's honestly nothing we can do then you'll just have to feed from me. It must be possible to do that. If vampires have been around for thousands of years and kill every time they feed, we'd be extinct by now, so it must be possible. You must have done it before, so do it now."

"Jesus, no. You can't trust me. I can't trust myself. The things I'll do to you Rachel... Even if I did stop myself I'll still have … please don't trust me, please."

"You're not killing anyone else today and I'm not going to stand by and let any more poor souls get hurt because of my inaction. I don't want to die Mitchell, so I'll have to trust you. My choice – not yours."

Mitchell stared at her, disbelief and frustration flooding his senses. Her eyes were red and there were exhausted dark circles underneath them he'd not seen before, but the determination in her was absolute.

He could easily break that determination with one squeeze of his hands.

He dropped to the floor, wrapping his arms tight round his stomach, leaning his back against the sofa and closing his eyes against the need, the chaos, the shards of red that were already starting to pierce his darkness. If he spoke again it would be as he destroyed her. If he ignored her, maybe he could wrest some control out of what was left of himself. But she had to shut up. He heard her move away and forced his breath to come more regularly. If he could regain enough control he could rip the key from her hand and physically force her out of the flat or get past her. But without that control as soon as he touched her skin he'd…

He could hear her in the kitchen, the noise of drawers and metal, then a tiny cry … ignore her… he pulled himself up and moved closer to the door, another pulse of rage and hunger threaded through him and he ground his shoulder up against the wall, turning his head inwards, as if he could make himself disappear into it, like a ghost.

And then there was the magnetic pull of a heartbeat moving closer to him. The smell. The sweetness. The spice in the metallic edge of iron. The heat. God he was so cold. He would not open his eyes. He couldn't speak now, if he begged her to move away it would turn to ashes in his mouth and become instead an enticement for her to come closer, to let him take everything she is. He felt the heartbeat move closer still, raising her wrist towards him.

It was over. There was blood. She'd cut her skin and now there was no hope left.

* * *

><p>She looked down at him, his head resting in her lap as she cradled him on the floor. She stroked his hair away from his face. It was still wet with sweat and blood. She'd never seen his face completely at rest before, and he was beautiful. Her fingers quietly traced over his black eyebrows, and down the strong line of his cheek. They hovered over his lips, and she pulled her hand back sharply. She returned to stroking his hair, the rhythm was soothing, calming, soft.<p>

The sound of birdsong interrupted the silence. It must be nearly dawn. How long had they been here like this?

A breath. A movement of his head.

She moved her hands away and waited.

His eyes opened and for a moment there was peace, but then the panic flew in. He sat up and twisted round, grabbing her shoulders painfully hard. "You're here, you're OK?"

"I'm here. I'm OK. And so are you."

He looked around at the devastation he had brought to the flat. Upturned table and chairs, broken mugs, trashed books.

"You can tidy up this mess, Mitchell, because I'm not!" she almost smiled at him.

He stood up with great care, and reached down to her. She placed her hands in his and let him help her to her feet. She saw him staring at the towel wrapped around her wrist and felt the shudder run right through his body. He lifted up his eyes slowly to look at her. "What happened?"

"How much do you remember?"

"I remember fear and fury and blood and lust. Tell me."

"You held my wrist. You sank your fangs into it and you drank some of my blood. Then you ripped my arm away and knocked me across the room. You trashed the place. I cowered in that corner. Then it went quiet and you slept. I bandaged my arm. Then you woke up. Good morning." That was enough. Did he really need to know any more? Could she bring herself to tell him any more.

She felt a tug on her hands as he guided her towards the sofa. She winced from the pain in her wrist as she sat down. "I'm sorry…" he started to say, but she raised her head fiercely to look him straight in the eye.

"You don't say that, not about this. It was my choice, all my choice. Don't ever forget that."

He looked back at her, matching her directness. "What happened?" he repeated, stroking her unbandaged arm.

Finally the tears started to come, she couldn't brush them away as he was holding her hands, so she let them wet her cheeks. "You gripped my wrist so hard I cried out, you looked right at me and your eyes were shining and pitch black. You'd gone, and I couldn't see you or reach you anymore. You twisted my wrist and I cried out harder from the pain. You smiled at that and I saw your fangs, like a tiger. I tried to pull away then but you pushed me back against the wall and held me there with the full weight of your body. You forced the fangs through my skin and I think I lost consciousness for a moment, it hurt beyond anything I can … then you started to suck and the whole universe became the pain, the pull, the hardness of you…" she stopped, her breathing ragged. "I can't, I can't tell you anymore." She dropped her head.

He let go and moved closer to her, she felt arms gently rest around her shoulders.

"You did reach me Rachel, I remember that. You leant in close to me and I heard you whisper. You reached me and I wouldn't have stopped if you hadn't. You said 'Goodbye, Mitchell'."

"You were gone and I thought I was dead."

"I know."

Rachel let her head rest against his shoulder. "I thought I could handle it, that I could handle you as a vampire. But the pain, the terror, oh God Mitchell."

"I know."

"But I was right to trust you, more than you trusted yourself. You fought that… that animalistic, howling need somehow. I can't believe you managed to do that after what I saw it do to you. You found the strength. That's who you are Mitchell."

She felt the shake of his head as he drew her in, holding her closer "No. Never think that. I'm always the vampire."

She went quiet at this, and let the last of her tears fall as she clung onto him.


	6. Chapter 6

_As always, thanks to Toby Whithouse and the BBC for creating such wonderful characters. I'm just borrowing them and promise to give them back soon._

_Thanks for reading, and huge thanks to those kind enough to leave reviews, it really is appreciated._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 6  Blood ties**  
><em>

He was freezing his bastard bollocks off out here. Why didn't Mitchell just get a sodding move on.

Seth stretched out his legs the best he could while cramped behind a steering wheel. At least everything had gone to plan so the boss should be pleased enough. He'd had no trouble following the girl to Mitchell's flat yesterday evening and watching as she ran up the stairs to his front door - the little idiot. These girls were always so predictable. He hadn't had to hang around outside for very long before he heard the inevitable cry from behind the grubby first-floor curtains. It had been quickly snuffed out, and no-one else in the street had noticed anything as they got on with their ordinary little human lives, but of course they weren't listening out for it like he was. To tell the truth the muffled sound of the scream had given him a nice vicarious thrill, after all, he couldn't help noticing the girl was very pretty and it didn't take much effort to imagine that she'd taste really, really sweet. Going by what sounded like the distant crashing of furniture that followed a few minutes after, Mitchell had thought so too and had helped himself to one hell of a party last night.

Mitchell got all the best jobs, lucky bastard.

Anyway, that had been hours ago and Mitchell still hadn't phoned for the clean-up squad or stepped out of the door yet. At least the flat was on top of a Chinese Takeaway, so Seth'd been able to sneak over and grab a meal at one in the morning - even if it wasn't the kind of food he was in the mood for. He fidgeted again. He wasn't supposed to let on he was here, otherwise he'd have hammered on the door by now, telling Mitchell to stop dicking about and get the place cleaned up before any blood started dripping through the floorboards into the Takeaway downstairs. It had happened before.

But instead he'd have to wait it out. Six-twenty on a Saturday morning and waiting on the prodigal golden boy - again.

He let his head fall back on the headrest for a second.

...

The bang of a fist on the passenger-door window woke him with a start.

"Oi, Seth. Don't reckon you should be sleeping on the job, man". Marco was hopping from one trainered foot to the other, blowing on his hands.

Seth wound down the passenger window and lent across. "Yeah, well you try hanging around out here for hours waiting for Mitchell. Gets right on my tits. Any news?"

"Nah. So Mitchell got the job done then? Shoulda done it days ago. Next time Herrick should let us handle the loose ends, it'd be a whole lot quicker."

Seth nodded. "Took, what, two hours tops for me to sort out the mess with that Barry guy. No-one even knows he's dead yet. Good result that. Quick, clean. But then Mitchell always did like to play with his food."

Marco shrugged and adjusted the angle of his baseball cap, "Whatever. Look man, Herrick says you can give it a rest now the job's done, go and get a bit of kip. That's gotta be what Mitchell's doin' right now. It'll be hours before he comes up for air."

"'Bout bloody time." Seth muttered. "Quarter to nine. Get in then, I'll give you a ride back to the Parlour on the way."

* * *

><p>She looked so fragile as he watched her sleeping, curled up on the battered old sofa. She was practically buried under the duvet he had dragged in from the bedroom, accompanied by his muffled apologies for not being very good at 'doing laundrettes'.<p>

So fragile. It was unbelievable. She had stood before him last night, balancing on the very edge of the precipice, shivering with fear but looking obliteration straight in the eye. Yet somehow she'd survived it ... him. Perhaps he should feel relieved, or even proud that he hadn't torn her to shreds after all, but he didn't. He felt disorientated.

Fragile. He reached out and moved a wave of soft brown hair off her face, his fingers lingering just a second longer than they should.

* * *

><p>The sound of morning traffic and early shoppers started to reach the flat. Rachel dragged herself up and leant forward for a glass of water balanced on the broken table in front of the sofa. Something urgent sparked at the back of her mind, something she had to work out, but she couldn't quite grasp it while her brain was still whirring in confusion. Instead she took a long drink and looked around. The room was a wreck, the floor covered with broken crockery, glass and furniture - the snarling evidence of Mitchell's rage and violence still surrounding her even now. She couldn't stop her eyes seeking out the blood stains smeared across the wall. Her own blood. She shrank from the sight.<p>

"Hows you feeling?" Mitchell skirted round the sofa and sat on the floor opposite her, clutching a glass of his own. Perhaps he was being careful not to get too close, not to scare her. Ridiculous given the boundaries they'd smashed the night before.

"Groggy. But OK." Her voice cracked. She set down the glass, avoiding his gaze. "Actually, can I get freshened up?"

"Yeah, 'course. Just through there. Take anything you need. Help yourself. Really, anything."

Wrapping the duvet around her shoulders she picked her way across to the bathroom. Her face in the mirror made her gasp. She looked ghostly pale with haunted eyes and faint streaks of dried blood across her right cheek. She scrubbed at her face, raking fingers through fiercely tangled hair. She washed and replaced the makeshift bandage on her wrist. The wounds didn't look too bad considering the pain she'd felt.

The cold bathroom tiles soothed her forehead as she leant against them, rocking gently, 'this is too much, too much.'

"Rachel? D'you need anything?"

"No. It's OK. I'm fine Mitchell, really." She threw herself a last glance in the mirror. Heavy spatters of blood had dried to nearly black on her pale blue top. "Liar" she whispered as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

"Mitchell", he looked up as she took a deep breath. "I know we have to talk about all… all this. Talk properly I mean. But not now, please, I just want to go home."

Rachel picked at a thread on the back of the sofa and waited for the argument to begin. Last night he'd been talking about getting her checked over by a particular doctor at St Jude's, and later he'd flatly refused even to respond to her confused request for a taxi home, cocooning her in a duvet and stroking her head until she had drifted to sleep instead.

His half-smile reassured her as he unfolded himself and stood up from the floor, "Don't worry. I understand - you need to get the blood away from your skin, to feel clean."

She nodded, feeling her body let go of tension in the relief that there was no need to explain any more.

"Then let's get you home, sweetheart." He started to gather up her bag and coat, taking her car keys from the pocket.

"I can drive myself" she started to protest, but the set look on his face stopped her in her tracks.

"You are _not_ going to drive yourself, and you are _not_ going without me. I'm going to see you safely home, and right now you're gonna accept that. You can yell at me later."

"What if I prefer to yell at you now?"

He put the coat over her shoulders and steered her towards the door "Waste of time, darlin'. Now where's your car parked?"

* * *

><p>He didn't know how long he could keep up the pretense that things were fine. The girl was far from oblivious.<p>

"Wait a minute" Rachel craned her head round as the car took an unexpected turn "it's much quicker if you'd gone straight on back there, this won't take us to Redland."

"Ah Jesus" Mitchell swung the car round to double-back, reversing up a side street in the process. "Can't remember the last time I got to drive round the posh bits of Bristol. So I should turn left here then?"

He didn't think she'd seen him checking the rear view mirror every other second, or scouring the streets as he parked in front of her house, just in case.

There'd been no one following them, no one was lurking around near her house, but Seth had been stalking her earlier in the week, so he wasn't going to accept that everything was inexplicably ok again. Something vulture-like was circling Rachel, and it could only be related to the shipment coming in tomorrow.

"Mitchell?" he felt Rachel's hand rest on his for a moment as he sent one last glance down the street. "Mitchell? Come on, at least let me make you a quick coffee."

"Wha'? Don't invite…" he began, but it was already too late.

"Come on in Mitchell, come in, quick, your hands are frozen."

"… me in" he murmured under his breath as he followed her up the steps and through the front door. "Look Rachel. Whoever comes to the door, anyone at all, don't let them in. Not an unexpected delivery, not the nice lady who's broken down and needs to make a phone call, not the new neighbour who's lost cat might be in your garden…"

But his list of what she shouldn't do was interrupted by a sudden "Rachel, darling" from the bottom of the stairs in front of them.

My God. Mitchell drew in a breath. He hadn't realised Rachel had a sister, but there was no mistaking it. An older sister with the same direct hazel-green eyes and long dark lashes, soft brown hair and irresistible smile. But a sister who was as effortlessly chic as Rachel was not. Hair waving into a smooth bob, sharply high heeled boots under tailored trousers, and red lipstick that lured his eyes directly towards beautiful full lips which promised so much.

"Louisa!" Rachel's handbag hit the wooden floorboards with a thud and she ran with arms outstretched "Louisa, I can't believe you're here. It's wonderful."

Mitchell hovered in the hallway for a while as the women's greetings and urgent chat spilled into the kitchen. He had just started to make his way quietly towards the door to leave unannounced when Rachel ran up to grab his arm. "No wait a sec, it's fine, Louisa's family. I have to get showered and changed, but she's insisting that you should have that coffee and no one ever escapes from Louisa when she's set her mind on something, so you must stay for that. I won't be long." Then she was gone, up the stairs, and leaving behind the warmest smile.

He knew he should leave, things were complicated enough as they were, but he didn't.

She was leaning against the kitchen surface, waiting for the coffee machine to warm up, and looked him up and down with a forensic gaze. "So, you're Mitchell. How long have you known Rachel exactly?"

Impressive, Mitchell smiled to himself, not a woman to waste too much time on small-talk, that trait must run in the family. "Not very long, I've been helping out at the Law Centre for a few days."

"She's lovely, isn't she?" Louisa drawled as she moved across the room towards him, swaying slightly.

This time he didn't answer, the question just didn't sound right. Something was off key here, and Mitchell pulled backwards, a frown starting to draw across his forehead.

From nowhere he felt a hand hard around his neck, forcing him up against the kitchen wall with unexpected fury. In shock he looked down into pitch-black eyes and fangs extended beneath those beautiful full red lips.

"If you so much as look at my grand-daughter ever again I am going to stake whatever's left of your rancid heart to that kitchen table, you bastard. And just so we are clear, I don't give a fig for any King of Blood rubbish, _John_, because when that happens all that will be left of your stellar reputation will be a sorry pile of mismatched clothes for me to throw in the bin."

The surge of answering anger drained away the instant the meaning of her words fully hit him. He put his hands on her shoulders and eased her backwards, loosening her hold on his throat. "Your grand-daughter? Louisa, I'm not gonna hurt her."

The fury in her visibly mounted "You prick! She comes home with you on a morning, white as a sheet, blood all over her and a homemade bandage on her wrist. You know I wasn't born yesterday, _Mr _Mitchell, you've already hurt her."

"Not the way you think…"

"Exactly the way I think!" She let go with a hoarse cry of rage and her eyes flicked back to a contemptuous green. "Go on then. Tell me you didn't rip open her flesh and feed from her."

His eyes slid away, "Yeah, but it wasn't … It's never going to happen again, I swear." It sounded hollow, even to him.

"Oh well, that's all right then, especially given your legendary reputation for restraint." The sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs brought the escalating tirade to a shuddering stop. "I will end you, Mitchell, don't doubt it." she hissed directly into his face.

They both pulled away as Rachel flew into the room, freshly dressed in jeans and loose top, with hair wet from the shower. "What's all the shouting for? What's all this about 'restraint'?"

Neither replied.

* * *

><p>Christophe leant back and crossed his long legs with a satisfied sigh. The dark brown leather creaked as he settled in and the charming little hotel receptionist smiled a touch shyly as she handed him the morning newspaper.<p>

"I hope you slept well, sir" she enquired, how sweet.

"I did, thank you…" he made a show of checking the name tag nestling close to the open neck of her efficient white shirt, "Amy. Very soundly indeed.' He beamed a smile up at her, 'You are looking after me so well I won't want to check-out tomorrow. But on the bright side, today I get to be shown round the sites of Bristol by a local expert."

"That's lovely. Enjoy your day in Bristol, sir." Christophe wasn't surprised by the tentative look she sent over her shoulder as she walked back towards the desk. Yes, she was very sweet.

"Lovely girl, such good service here." A voice drifted from behind the sofa.

Christophe stood and put out his hand in greeting, "Good morning, Herrick, good to see you. Take a seat for a moment. I can recommend the breakfast if you haven't eaten."

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you." Herrick demurred, taking the seat opposite.

Christophe looked around at the vaulted ceilings, whitewashed walls, expanses of polished wood and comfortable sofas. "You know I remember this place when it was warehouses. Sugar warehouses I think, with wonderful cellars which were so convenient for the waterfront, for moving people in and out. Who would have thought a place like that would scrub up so well. You'd think the walls would whisper their secrets to the guests as they sleep in their luxury beds, but it seems not."

"Not everything is lost to the past here." Herrick edged forward on the sofa, brushing the papers to the side of the low mahogany table between them, "In fact, I have an invitation for you. We can tie up all the signing-off arrangements with police and customs within a few hours, and after that there is little left to do before the shipment is collected tomorrow. So - this gives us the chance to relax in old-Bristolian style."

Christophe repressed a laugh prompted by Herrick's over-dramatic pause, but was far too intrigued to refuse the bait. "I am suitably intrigued, tell me more."

"Let's just say I own a property worthy of a visit. We are told these days that the cellars beneath the old Clifton houses were only used by filthy-rich merchants to store their goods, never to shackle slaves from the trade routes between Africa and the Americas. Of course that may be the case, but then so many myths have a germ of truth behind them, even if the details have been misinterpreted over time. Would you care to visit tonight? Maybe rediscover a bit of history? Refreshments provided."

Christophe hadn't realised how much Herrick wanted to impress. While he was vain enough to believe that this invitation was purely for his benefit, he suspected that it was part of a more complicated and longer-term game than that. It usually was with Herrick.

"Well you have me hooked, Herrick. I will be there."

"Excellent. So to business." Herrick stood and waited for Christophe to gather up a long grey coat and leather holdall, running through the details methodically. "The final clearance meeting with Customs and Excise is at Royal Portbury Dock, it shouldn't take long for us to drive there on a Saturday, but we should leave now to be sure. Mitchell says the contact seems pretty solid, but is nobody's fool so it's crucial to put the upfront half of the payment in his hands and on time."

Christophe found his attention wavering as he nodded a goodbye towards sweet little Amy on their way out.

* * *

><p>Rachel looked from one vampire to the other. "You don't know each other already, do you?"<p>

Mitchell shook his head. "Only by reputation" Louisa replied, "something I'd like to describe to you because I think you'll find it fascinating under the circumstances. You sounded frightened when you phoned me, and I need to make sure you're safe."

"I know, I know. Mitchell's already making me promise to turn myself into a hermit."

"He's right." Louisa threw a foul look in Mitchell's direction. "Of course you shouldn't be letting strangers like him across the threshold."

Rachel laughed out loud at the anachronism "Creepy. Anyway, don't lecture _me_ about security, Louisa, tell him. He's the one who thinks leaving a spare key above the front door is a good idea.''

"Excuse me?" Mitchell felt a coldness inch down his spine as something started to shift uncomfortably in his mind. The vulture, he could almost see it circling. "You found a key above my door and that's how you let yourself in? How did you know to look?"

"Your text, obviously."

He shook his head again, his voice dropping lower. "I don't have your number, I've never sent you a text." He stole a glance across towards Louisa and saw her stiffen as a layer of unease settled over the kitchen. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, handing it over to Rachel. "Take a look."

Rachel scrolled through the messages, and found nothing. She looked up into Mitchell's face, her frown matched by his. "You said something like that last night too, didn't you. You didn't know what I was talking about. Hold on a minute." She rushed to retrieve her bag from the hall , still rummaging through it as she sat down at the kitchen table and gestured the others to join her. Finally she pulled out a crumpled handwritten note and the phone. Mitchell felt Louisa's stare burn into him as he read the text message Rachel held out towards him. He stared at the screen for what seemed like an age, turning the note over and over in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said "I must have screwed up, you know I was drowning in hunger yesterday, mad with it. When it's like that the world becomes a haze, I forget things. I must have forgotten that I'd sent you a message, and was so out of it when you arrived. I'm sorry, Rachel, I didn't mean to doubt you. But we'll make a deal, you don't let anyone in and I'll find a better place to keep my spare key, huh?"

For a second they looked directly at each other, Mitchell could see the wariness in Rachel, she didn't quite believe him, but she trusted him too much to dismiss him and couldn't make enough sense of it to challenge him. He reached across and squeezed her hand. "You need time to talk to Louisa, so I'll leave you to it for a bit. I'll come back later, we still have things to sort out."

Without giving Rachel a chance to object he moved quickly towards the door, tilting his head to direct Louisa to follow him.

She caught up with him in the hallway. "That was a load of crap. You deliberately lured Rachel to you and she's too trusting to see it."

Mitchell leaned downwards as if to kiss her cheek in farewell "I don't care what you think you know. Just don't let her out of your sight." he breathed.

As the door shut behind him he stood for a moment and stared across the town laid out before him. As ever, there was only one place left to go - to find Herrick.

* * *

><p>Rachel hadn't moved, her stare fixed on the phone and the note. Louisa pulled a chair closer and put an arm around her shoulders. "Darling, you have no idea what you're playing with here. I can understand the allure, you know, and I understand that the excitement can lead you into exploring..."<p>

"Christ almighty Louisa!" Rachel held out her bandaged wrist. "You think I'm fucking Mitchell and this is from some kind of sex game?"

"Anyone can see how you two are with each other. The way you look at each other. You trust him in a way that comes from real intimacy. You wouldn't be the first, my love, and you need to know that however normal and in control he might seem, that's a facade. He's spent decades playing these games with his victims, and he's good at them. In fact he's cultivated one hell of a reputation for the carnality and brutality of his..."

"Stop. I stumbled into hell by accident. He was like a desperate caged animal, ravenous."

"Oh I see. You want to save him, then? Rachel, the graveyards are littered with silly girls who thought they were different, special, that they could save a vampire from themselves."

"You're not listening. I was standing on the edge of hell. I had seconds to decide whether to let him leave and kill, or do whatever I could to stop him somehow."

"You must know that offering yourself is not stopping him, staking him is stopping him."

"What! He's one of your own, you can't mean that."

"Oh I do, believe me I do. Darling, what happens next time he arrives on your doorstep shaking and desperate? How many times do you hold out your wrist or bare your neck. Be honest, how long before you really do take him to your bed? A week? A day? That's not stopping him. And one day very soon that iron control you think you can trust won't hold any longer. He'll say he needs you, he loves you, right up to the moment he can't help but devour you. No doubt he'll be heartbroken. But before very long you are just another silly girl he put in the graveyard."

Rachel turned in her chair to look at her grandmother. "Tell me" she whispered.

Louisa didn't hesitate. "We thought we'd be different, your grandfather and I. We had each other, we had Miles. Your father was still a baby and we thought we could find a way to live together, human and newly-made vampire. I was a good person, I could find a way not to kill. Robert was a good person. He would find a way to help me, feed me just enough. We loved each other, right up to the night I killed him in our bed, taking pleasure in it."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I, sixty years later, so am I. It's easy enough to say it now but he should have staked me, he should have been the one to live."

"I'm really so sorry. But this isn't the same. I'm not trying to save Mitchell, it's about the others, the victims he didn't take last night."

"Oh my love, that kind of trade-off sounds more like a game of Russian roulette or a death wish to me. Why cast yourself in that role?"

"Believe me I didn't choose it. But I can't stand by and have more blood on my hands."

"More blood? Miles has driven himself half mad protecting you from all this, what blood are you talking about?"

A surge of energy lifted Rachel from her seat. "You're right it has to be made to stop. I've been looking the other way and allowing it to happen. People are being transported and sold and murdered and our family is part of that machine. Well not this time. Time's running out for them, but I can still make it stop - I have to go to the police."


	7. Chapter 7

_As always, thanks to Toby Whithouse and the BBC for creating such wonderful characters. I'm just borrowing them and promise to give them back soon._

_The story is heading towards its conclusion now. __Thanks for reading, and huge thanks to those kind enough to leave reviews, it really is appreciated._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 7<strong>  
><em>

The road looked exactly the same as it always did. Nothing changes. Tidy front lawns with an occasional toy scooter abandoned on its side. Magnolia-painted houses lined up ready for inspection. Mitchell paid no attention to the teenage girls sitting nonchalantly on the low garden wall, one daring the other to whistle at him as he walked past.

He stopped for a moment at the front door, dropping his cigarette end to the ground and grinding it under his boot for a very long time, shoulders hunched. His arm was heavy as he raised it to knock.

"Mitchell! In you come then. The Neighbourhood Watch will be on red alert if they see someone like you lurking around the houses for too long."

Herrick led the way into the living room with a small bounce in his stride, throwing an unnervingly bright smile in Mitchell's direction. "Nice to see you my boy, it was a pleasant surprise to get your call. We had a good meeting at the docks this morning, thank you for arranging all that so efficiently. Christophe and I are planning a small celebration at my Clifton house, come and join us. You should bring a guest, if you see what I mean."

Without waiting to be asked Mitchell sat on the neat grey sofa, leaning his head back and turning it to fix his look on Herrick.

"Rachel." It was all he said.

Herrick stopped and raised his eyebrows before leaning forward as if suddenly understanding. "Ahhh. A riddle. Well I can just about tell you've had a snack recently and it certainly seems sweet enough to have been the fragrant Rachel, but surely you haven't resorted to munching your way through your co-workers quite so quickly."

"I think you can guess."

"Honestly, Mitchell. I give you a simple administrative task and now I'm going to have to explain how the daughter of one of the most useful vampire-sympathisers in Bristol has been in an accident."

Mitchell did not smile back in response. "Why didn't you just kill her yourself?"

"I'm sorry? Why would you ask that?"

"She was the weak link. The one most likely not go along with all of this. You did your Risk Impact Survey and decided she was at the top of your To Do list. I see that. So why didn't you kill her yourself, huh? I'm guessing because it's much easier to explain away a blood-drunk sexual encounter gone wrong with me than a cold blooded assassination by you. Easier for Christophe and the hierarchy to let you off the hook on that one. They'll understand. It's me, after all."

Herrick put away the grin and gave a sharp nod. Sitting down opposite he became unnaturally still, regarding Mitchell with caution for once.

"I was half hoping you'd deny it." Mitchell said.

"Collateral damage old son. You know how these things are, sometimes it is necessary to take a more strategic approach."

"So is it her or me that's the collateral damage? Both of us, perhaps. Never mind, better to reign in hell than serve in heaven, I suppose."

"Now what would you mean by that? Heaven and hell, Mitchell. How very old school of you. That's not your usual style."

"You don't get it, do you. It's not about whether she needed to be taken out of the picture, I've been around you long enough to know you'll take whatever steps necessary, especially when the big boys are relying on you. I understand that, Herrick. I do."

"So what precisely is it that I don't get?"

"You used me. You set me up, turned me into your weapon, and pulled the trigger."

"Really? And how did I manage to do that?"

"Because you know my weaknesses. Christ knows you've cultivated them for long enough. Take one pretty girl, throw us together, get me high on blood, send her round, job done. Come on, it's not rocket science, is it. You never needed me to check those files at the Law Centre, that was just your little way of getting the ball rolling. Then you use Seth to put a bit of extra pressure on, subtle as ever …"

"Well, you always had a penchant for playing the good guy. You know, the chivalrous arm round her shoulder, 'it'll be fine, I'll protect you'. Always worked remarkably well for you that line. I never quite understood why they just keep falling for it."

Mitchell ignored the determined cheerfulness in his old friend's voice. "I couldn't quite work it out, not until I saw the text message on her phone. It was from my number - sent while I was having that little drink with you and Christophe at the Parlour. No wonder Nana was so fuckin' determined to take my coat. You knew what I'd be like after the blood. The poor kid didn't stand a chance and you sent her to my door and put the key in her hand. Very neat."

"I admit I thought so too. But Mitchell, remember you are the one who finished the job. I think you mistake me. I do not see your weakness, I see your strength going to waste. I want you back by my side - properly back, a force to be reckoned with again. There's so much I want to do and having you with me will make it so much more... fun! Tell me it didn't feel good - to feel the power, to revel in it, finally to satisfy _all _your desires again_. _You've been sleepwalking these past months, shutting yourself away in that horrible little flat and keeping away from the rest of us when there's a hunt to be had. Even letting lovely blonde pick-ups go the morning after..."

Mitchell looked up sharply at that.

"... Oh yes, so sorry, I neglected to say. The sad blonde with the long legs from the bar last weekend? Imagine my surprise when it turns out she is not littering up the River Avon after all, but is instead walking through the corridor at my police station bold as brass and definitely still breathing. It appears the luscious Jennifer is unlucky enough to work for the Crown Prosecution Service and even unluckier to have had a meeting with my superior officer this week. Or maybe I should say worked. So it seems I'm not the only man in this room who's been a touch economical with the truth recently."

"Economical, maybe, but I didn't manipulate you like this. It's weird, Herrick, through everything I still held on to this belief that I could sort of trust you. No-one else in the world would say that, but after all we've been through together there was still something holding me here that …"

Mitchell stopped and stood. His hands slipped into his jacket pockets and his shoulders straightened. A wave of weariness washed over his face. A single shake of his head and he started to walk to the door.

"It doesn't matter anymore. It's done. I'm done."

A look of barely suppressed concern flicked across Herrick's eyes. "If I knew what you meant I'd tell you not to be so melodramatic" he blustered.

Mitchell didn't turn his head. "See you round Herrick. I'll see myself out."

He closed the front door quietly, leaning his arms against it for a second with his dark head bowed. Then he turned swiftly and lengthened his stride as he headed down the pavement to where his car was parked. He didn't even hear the redheaded girl as she managed a half-hearted wolf-whistle closely followed by a loud giggle. He snapped his phone open and found the number he needed.

"Miles. It's Mitchell. Don't hang up on me this is urgent. I need to see you straight away. I need your help."

* * *

><p>Louisa was exhausted. Talking Rachel out of going straight to the police had taken hours. In the end she had finally been forced to accept that reporting to the local police would ultimately mean tipping off Herrick and the rest of the Bristol vampires. Rachel had reluctantly conceded that it would be pointless and suicidal, but she was still circling the house trying to find another solution.<p>

"I should ask Mitchell. He isn't part of this, he'll help" she said.

Louisa slapped her hands down on the table in frustration. "Mitchell! Mitchell is Herrick's poster boy, of course he knows. He's been playing this game since The Great War. How much is left that you think he hasn't done or seen? I'll make a little bet with you. When he comes back, you ask him how many times he's been to parties and clubs and brothels where the entertainment has been shipped in for his pleasure. But I think you already know what the answer would be."

Rachel stopped pacing to stare at her grandmother. "And you've been playing this game since the Second World War. Perhaps you would like to answer that question yourself."

"Ever the lawyer, Rachel. Leave it, just leave things be. It's been happening for thousands of years in one way or another. You don't have to be part of it ever again. You should leave Bristol, cut your ties with all this and find a different life. And the answer is yes, of course I know such things."

"Being the consumer isn't the same thing though, is it." Rachel pleaded "Knowing it happens isn't the same as being part of the disgusting machine behind it."

"I'm not so sure about that," Louisa admitted "but right now the only thing that concerns me is you. I love you. You and Miles are all that's left of the family I love. Miles has spent his life keeping me safe, saving my kind from the risk of exposure. And now I'm going to keep you safe. You are coming with me, to Italy. Just for the short-term. You will stay with human contacts there and when you are ready you can head off to make a new life of your own."

Rachel finally fell silent. Thank God, Louisa murmured to herself. All she had to do now was persuade Rachel to leave. "You stay here. I'll go and pack a bag for you."

As soon as Louisa disappeared up the stairs Rachel rushed to the living room at the front of the house and switched on the computer, whispering frantically 'come on, come on, hurry up' as it whirred into life. Seconds later she had what she needed, contact details for the Bristol Post newspaper. If she couldn't report a crime, at least she could blow the whistle and there was no need to mention vampires to get attention because a cargo of illegal immigrants arriving in the city would get the journalists nicely hot under the collar. The docks would be swarming with press and photographers by the morning. At the very least that would frighten the vampires away.

Before she could reach for the phone the front doorbell sounded. Rachel edged round to the front window and could just see a glimpse of a tall blond man in a striking gray suit and a long heavy coat draped over his arm. When there was no response to the ring he took a step back and raised his voice "Rachel? Are you there? I have a message for you from Miles."

Vampire? As long as she didn't invite him in, she'd be perfectly OK. Rachel went to the door, stepping back carefully as she opened it so she remained well out of reach.

"Hello. You say you have a message for me?"

"Rachel. You are here. It was a long-shot, but I so wanted to see you while I'm visiting Bristol." The man stopped suddenly and looked beyond Rachel to the stairs behind her. "It cannot be" he breathed.

Louisa took a few more steps down the stairs, transfixed. "Christophe, my God."

Rachel glanced back towards Louisa in surprise, her voice drenched in panic "I don't know what to do, tell me what to do."

"Don't let him in." Louisa half-choked, not taking her eyes from the man in the doorway.

"Oh Louisa, I'm so sorry but it's fifteen years too late for that," and he stepped inside, wrenching the door from Rachel's hand and slamming it shut behind him.

* * *

><p>This part of Avonmouth was a grim place to be on a cold autumn evening. The sickly lights of the truck stop were starting to flicker as dusk fell. Sitting squat on the side of the near-deserted side road leading down towards the docks the downtrodden cafe was still the warmest and most inviting place for a few miles in any direction.<p>

He parked his car a little way back from the half-dozen trucks already parked up for the night and sat back in the gloom to wait. It was easy enough to watch the drivers as they hauled themselves out of the cabins and walk stiffly towards the cafe, helpfully spotlit by the lights from the handful of tables inside. It was not the most glamorous of hunting grounds, but that didn't stop the old thrill running through him - the preparation, the chase, the heady anticipation. He relaxed and felt himself in control. This wasn't the frenzy he'd been in with Rachel, a blood-lust that would wreck everything in it's path. This was his to command, his to choose. Herrick had been right, he'd been sleepwalking for months.

It was less than an hour before the truck pulled in close to the car. A tall, strongly built driver lowered himself to the ground and stretched out his limbs before heading to the cafe. Body builder, thought Mitchell, they were always fun.

After giving the driver long enough to order whatever greasy spoon food he needed, Mitchell followed him into the cafe. A murmur swept round the tables, until a woman driver shouted over "You're in the wrong place luvvie, bikers don't hang out here, but I've always got room in my cab for you."

The laughter dispelled the tension, and Mitchell joined in as he collected a mug of tea from the counter and went to sit opposite his target.

"Do I know you?" the driver asked casually as he tucked into a surprisingly healthy-looking steak and salad.

"Sort of" Mitchell replied "You're Jimmy."

The driver looked up, "Yeah." he said slowly "what if I am."

"Well, if you are I've got half your wages waiting for you in my car." Mitchell said, keeping his voice low.

"But I thought I'd be paid afterwards, the Bristol guy told me that." Jimmy whispered back.

"Mitchell, you mean?"

"That's the one."

"I thought you'd recognise the accent, but pleased to meet you anyway, Jimmy. My mistake, everyone else is getting some upfront so it's only fair you do too."

The scowl left Jimmy's face "Yeah, I recognise your voice now. Sorry Mitchell mate. Let me finish this and we'll get it sorted, yeah?"

Mitchell assessed Jimmy as he rushed to pack away his dinner. He seemed pretty young, in his twenties at a guess. "How much do you know about what's going down here?" he asked.

"Nothing mate. Don't ask, don't tell. The Boss can be a pretty scary guy and I like to keep my nose clean, y'know. Right, all done. I'll just settle up with Chrissie and then we can go."

Mitchell walked silently with Jimmy towards the car, waiting until they were out of sight behind the truck before turning to face him.

"I lied Jimmy. There's no money. There's just this." His hand snaked around Jimmy's neck, lifting him until his feet struggled to keep contact with the earth. He pushed backwards, forcing the driver's head back against the door of the truck with a sick thud. "You know what this is, don't you?" His eyes scorched pitch black, obliterating the human. His fangs distended and he pulled his mouth back into an animalistic hiss.

Mitchell felt Jimmy's heartbeat lurch, his head shake in terror. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hands stiff by his side. "I'm going to tell you what happens next. You are going to give me the keys to this truck. Then you are going to run. You are going to run and hide. Because if you don't I will fucking find you and rip your head off, that is if your boss doesn't do it first. Am I making myself clear?"

Jimmy nodded, his face a mask of fear.

Mitchell forced his own face closer "Open your eyes Jimmy" he breathed. Jimmy shook his head. "Open them or I'll fucking do it for you" he hissed.

Jimmy did as instructed and Mitchell looked into eyes washed with sheer terror, and saw his own face reflected back at him. He took a step back and retracted the fangs, blinking his own eyes back to human. "Don't underestimate me Jimmy," he said, his voice level and calm, "I will kill you." Jimmy nodded. "Now, run".

Mitchell let go, and with a choked cry Jimmy ran jaggedly away from the warmth of the cafe towards the blinking lights on the horizon.

Mitchell swung himself round and leant his back against the truck, his breath coming in painful heaving gasps. He banged his head backwards - hard - once, twice, three times, with his eyes squeezed shut.

After a few minutes he walked back to his car and sat behind the wheel. Pulling out his phone his hands were shaking so hard it was difficult to dial the number.

"Miles. It's done. Get your man down here as fast as you can. I need to get back to Rachel."


	8. Chapter 8

_The story ends. Apologies for the length of the chapter, but I promise it is the last._

_Thanks for sticking with it, and thanks for reading. A huge thanks for reviewing - it's really appreciated._

_And thanks to the BBC and Toby Whithouse for creating such wonderful characters. I've enjoyed playing in their universe, and now reluctantly I'm going to give them back._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8  The Long Way**

_Long is the way, __and hard, that out of hell leads up to light - Paradise Lost_

"You don't remember me, Rachel? That hurts." Christophe's smile snaked across the hallway as Rachel backed away. Louisa grabbed her hand and pulled her in close.

"Our world doesn't revolve around you, however hard that is for you to believe" Louisa said, her voice diamond-hard.

"You didn't say that when you came running back to me, leaving your marital bed still drenched with the blood of that anaemic husband of yours. Ach. I can't even remember his name any more."

"It's been a long time, Christophe, why have you come to find me now?"

"I've missed you, chérie. The East End is much too quiet without you. Your lovely descendant here might not realise it, but you have considerable talent and I always enjoy nurturing new talent. Though if I'm scrupulously honest, I came to Bristol to see Rachel. Finding you here is just a delightful surprise. Do we really have to stand in the hallway? Can't we be a little more civilised?"

Turning his eyes away from the women he walked purposefully into the front room. The click of his polished brogues on the floorboards taking ownership of the silent house. Draping his coat over the arm of a chair he walked to the middle of the room, looking around and nodding in recognition.

For a moment he was perfectly framed against the large bay window. "Of course." Rachel breathed from the doorway as she took in his tall elegance, short dark-blond hair and pale skin. But it was the eyes. Grey eyes that seemed to go on forever, eyes that looked straight into her, eyes that had seen everything in the world.

She remembered.

Christophe smiled softly at her. "Good. That makes me feel much better. I would hate to have gone unremembered. And do you still play poker, my dear? You too have talent, I saw it all those years ago, but of course it's a talent that needs maturity to blossom."

"No. I don't play poker any more. At least not with cards."

His eyes focused on her more keenly "Ah. Your life means you have to play the game in other ways then. You like to take a risk and see how the cards fall?"

"I didn't have to. I was kept away from it all, but things have changed now and yes, I've discovered that sometimes it's worth taking a risk on someone."

Christophe stepped forwards and Rachel did too, "And taking the risk excites you, doesn't it?" he said. "Clearly that's a trait that runs in the female line of the family."

Before she could reply Louisa stepped between them. "The conversation ends here Christophe. I think you should leave."

"Leave?" A derisive laugh escaped his lips. "Why would I want to do that when there are so many delicious possibilities right here in this room? Let's open a bottle and sit down, shall we?"

"Out of the question. Get out of here Rachel."

"Spoilsport," he teased, "Rachel is going nowhere and you know that."

"Scared I'm going to spoil your plan, Christophe? I let you take me and then I let you control me for decades, so I know you and I know all your games. Leave. Now."

"I didn't control you, Louisa, that's a convenient lie you tell yourself when your conscience starts to prick a little too painfully. You thrived under my care, and I can do the same for your grand-daughter."

Reality crashed into Rachel's consciousness. If Christophe couldn't have Louisa any more, he was intending to start again - with her. He'd been waiting fifteen years for the chance. Tearing herself from the near-hypnotic state she had drifted into she forced her mind back to the night before. She saw Mitchell before her as he'd been, his beautiful face a terrifying distortion of itself, eyes empty of everything except pitch darkness and endless hunger, his body and mind become animal. She held on to the shudder of fear and pity the memory invoked. Regardless of any seduction he was going to use, she knew that _this _is what Christophe was intending for her too.

Christophe stepped past Louisa and drew Rachel's hand into his, turning her palm upward and stroking it with his other hand. "This is interesting" he mused "how did you come by the bandage?"

For a second Rachel considered lying, but then said "Mitchell. He and I got a little ... err …"

"A little carried away?" he finished, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "It seems I waited too long before I came to visit. Mitchell is it? That's an interesting development. Well, he's wasted down here as Herrick's errand boy. I think he'll fit into the London team very well. He takes a bit of handling, but that will make it so much more fun. The more I think about it the more I think this will all work out perfectly."

Rachel stepped back and forced a wan smile. "Louisa, I think Christophe is right about having a drink. Why not?"

Louisa looked at her in shock "Rachel, I don't think you understand..."

"A few days ago you would have been right, grandmother, but not now. There's no reason we can't have a conversation."

Louisa leant close to her ear ''You think he's going to give you a _choice_?" she hissed "You have to run."

Rachel brushed her away. "Don't worry so much, we're only talking. The wine is in the kitchen. There's a storage cupboard off the back and I keep my bottles in there, they're not brilliant, but the best of them are kept in the basket. Have a look, there might be something good enough for Christophe's taste."

* * *

><p>Louisa fought the urge to argue, at least a bottle of wine would slow everything down and give her a chance to think of something. The old pantry off the kitchen was cold as she flicked on the light switch and stepped inside. A few bottles of wine were balanced on a shelf at the back, and Louisa looked down for the basket. There was only one basket but it was full of gardening bits and pieces, not wine. She dropped to her knees and pulled out the mix of trowels and filthy gloves until she found a selection of short and thick wooden sticks at the bottom, presumably used to hold things in place in the garden.<p>

With a murmured thanks to Rachel's quick thinking she chose the sharpest, it wasn't perfect, but it would do. Tucking the makeshift stake into the band of her trousers and pulling her shirt over the top, she picked up the closest bottle of wine.

As she put the opened bottle on a tray with three glasses she felt a surge of power rush through her. This time Christophe was not in control.

* * *

><p>Rachel and Christophe sat side by side on the sofa as the tray was laid on the table in front of them.<p>

"Christophe has been explaining how he could do with a lawyer in London", Rachel said "I don't know. Maybe I could do that, keep things secret the way Dad has been helping you for all these years. No-one can take the risk of exposure, especially not us humans. Perhaps I _could_ handle that."

Christophe took her chin in his hand and turned her face to look directly at him "Not as a human, Rachel. That part of the arrangement is non-negotiable."

Rachel looked up at Louisa and saw the briefest of nods.

"I want Mitchell, you know I do," Rachel stood and moved away towards the door, "but this is a big step. Let me at least talk to him first."

Anger flashed across Christophe's face, finally cracking the facade "It's not about Mitchell! It won't take long for that fucking Irish peasant to be the last man on your mind."

He stood and followed her. Placing his hands on her shoulders he smiled down into her face. "Tell your grandmother to stay away, she knows how much I can hurt her. Now this will hurt, until the pain bleeds into pleasure - but of course you know that already." He shifted one hand to hold the back of her head hard. "It's very promising to see you are even easier than the beloved Louisa."

"No, Christophe, stop!" Louisa screamed and threw herself at him.

Expecting that, Christophe half-turned and caught her left arm with his free hand and twisted it sharply. "Don't be so silly Louisa, you'll be there to greet her on the other side. What a life she's going to have with me." With that fangs erupted and with a half-laugh he took his time lowering his head to Rachel's throat, relishing the heated heartbeat and frantic rush of blood just beneath his mouth.

He wasn't paying any attention to Louisa now, so he didn't feel her reach round with her right arm to grab the nearly-stake. He didn't realise what it meant when she pulled herself up as straight as she could while pinned back under his hand. He certainly didn't pay any attention to her hissed 'his name was Robert.' By the time he heard her cry of exertion it was too late and the weapon slid up past his ribs and straight into his heart.

Rachel looked up into eyes crazed with shock. An other-worldly sound filled her ears, like a distant cracking of the spheres, and then Christophe was gone.

* * *

><p>Mitchell climbed the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell as he practised what he would say. Only Louisa and Miles knew Rachel was still alive, and he had to get her out of the area as soon as possible. He doubted he would be persuasive enough. Jaysus the girl was stubborn! Maybe Louisa would drop her holier-than-thou attitude and back him up.<p>

It took an age for the door to open. Louisa stood back to let him in. "Personally I'd let you rot on the doorstep, but Rachel needs you." and she let him walk past her.

"You look rough." Mitchell threw back over his shoulder in retaliation.

As soon as he walked into the front room he knew. The long coat draped over the arm of a chair and the heavy air in the room told him half the story. The immaculate gray suit pushed to the side of the room told him the rest.

Rachel was sitting on the sofa, folded into herself. He sat next to her and waited until he felt her move and curl into him, her head finding the curve of his shoulder. He enclosed her in his arms without a word and feathered an imperceptible kiss on the top of her head.

…

"Here, drink this you two." Mitchell looked up to see Louisa put two mugs of tea down in front of them. "Solves everything you know."

"How long has it been?" he whispered, unconsciously stroking Rachel's hair as she stirred next to him and pulled in closer.

"You've been like that for nearly an hour now. Talking a little, but mostly sitting." she said "I'll leave you."

"No." Mitchell said "I think you should stay. How are you?"

"Me?" Louisa responded with surprise at his interest. "Shaken to be honest. We have a long and tortuous history, Christophe and I. After being in thrall to him for all these years, I never thought I'd be the one to end him. He was my maker."

"I didn't know that." Mitchell said "It gets bloody complicated, doesn't it?"

"You can say that again!" she agreed. "But he was going to recruit Rachel. Some things are unforgivable."

"Blood is thicker than water they say." Mitchell smiled.

Despite herself Louisa smiled back. "Yes they do. And she is my family. Always. Do you have family?"

"Nah. I never went back to Ireland. If I had I'd have been branded a deserter and that gave me the excuse to stay away, but deep down I think it was fear that kept me away. Fear of what I'd be capable of."

Louisa went pale at that. "I think you were more clear-sighted than I was. They would have had a better life if I hadn't dragged them into this. So Herrick became your family."

Mitchell didn't answer for a moment. His anger still burned him. "Like I said, it's bloody complicated."

He eased himself upright, and helped Rachel as she unfolded herself from the warmth of his side. "Rachel, I got it wrong. I thought Miles was in it for the money. That he'd sold himself for a handful of vampire silver and taken you down with him. I should have listened to you better in Sandrino's place. It was always about love, wasn't it. Love and sacrifice."

She nodded. "I was so cross with you when you said that about him. But you were right, whatever the motive we still help bury the bones. What happens now?"

Mitchell had thought of little else since he'd arrived. "Christophe was head of this operation and we have to make sure it doesn't collapse and expose everything in a way we can't control. Herrick is expecting Christophe tonight and when he doesn't turn up things will get messy. And you've been noticed, Rachel, we have to keep you safe. So. Louisa, you come with me to meet with Herrick, Rachel you stay put, just for now. Lock yourself in your wardrobe if you get tempted to open the door again."

A spark of fight returned to Rachel's eyes at that remark. "No sodding way am I staying here while you two are off taking all the risks."

Mitchell decided there was nothing but the truth left. "Herrick thinks I killed you. That was part of his master plan from the start, why he manoeuvred you into turning up in my flat. And if you had run, or wept, or begged, I know I would have. But you didn't behave like prey, and that disorientated everything. So if you show up at his house obviously we are not going to get away with this. We won't be long, but it has to be done."

* * *

><p>Herrick could barely conceal his surprise and delight when he opened the grand door to his even grander and very secret townhouse to see Mitchell and a spectacularly gorgeous woman on his doorstep. Mitchell could tell exactly what was going through his old comrade's head 'what a party we'll have tonight'.<p>

"Let the good times roll, Herrick" Mitchell said.

"So you couldn't stay away my boy. I thought the taste for the good life would prove irresistible after last night. Come on in."

Herrick smiled broadly, evidently pleased with his ultimate victory over his protegé's earlier idiotic attitude. He'd won. He'd got him back. He fussed around Louisa as they walked through to a reception room dripping with meticulously maintained grandeur.

"Actually we won't be staying. We've come to talk business - and by the way, Louisa is definitely not on the menu." A chill had crept into Mitchell's smile.

"Business? No not tonight. That can keep until tomorrow."

Louisa fixed Herrick with a disconcerting look "Christophe isn't coming. He messed with the wrong person and so now he's dead. Vampire politics is so very messy. And unfortunate for you as it happened when all eyes are on Bristol and whether you can handle a job on this scale. So we have a proposal."

Herrick's cheerfulness switched off in a instant and his blue eyes turned razor-sharp. "This had better be good." he said through clenched jaw.

Mitchell perched himself on the edge of a grand table and folded his arms. "We'll be fine," he said, "if you take Christophe's place chaperoning the special delivery to London and on to Prague. You know who it is, don't you?"

"Actually no. Christophe told no-one, and as she's an Old One I expected nothing less."

"Well thanks to you I got to check all the boring paperwork, remember. How many 10 year-old Old Ones do you know in need of an escort to get through all that airport security without too many questions asked."

"Hetty! You're sure?"

"Oh yes. She'll be pleased to see you, her dearest old recruit. She might even be pleased enough to overlook the whole Christophe cock-up happening on your watch. It also gets you safely out of the country for a little while. In fact I think you'll enjoy it."

"And what happens here in this plan of yours?"

"Nothing much. Everything else is in place. The container comes straight off the boat and onto the truck, that's all sorted already. Christophe's driver heads off to London with the cargo, no sweat. I just have to make sure Seth and crew don't screw it up by drawing attention to themselves when things are so … delicate … for us. We all keep our heads down and eventually everyone congratulates you on a good job, and how it was such a pity Christophe nearly fucked it up for you."

Herrick stared at Mitchell for a long moment. Mitchell resisted the urge to fidget.

"So. Louisa. You are part of the vampire politics that got so messy for Christophe?" Herrick asked.

"Yes. But none of us want Hetty to be inconvenienced by our petty differences, now do we. What a wasted opportunity that would be." she replied.

Mitchell smiled to himself. She'd got him. Herrick was hooked in.

"I don't think I could have come up with a better solution myself." Herrick snapped the charm back into place. "Hetty. Well well, it's been a very long time indeed. I think this will be quite delightful. We should have a drink to celebrate." He moved to open the door to a small room beyond. "And to toast absent friends."

In the subtle lights of a small library Mitchell could see a young woman, hands tied and mouth gagged. Her simple white blouse was crumpled and ripped and her terror was palpable even from where he stood. A tremor ran through him in response to the sight, but he forced his eyes away.

"Thanks Herrick, but I told you earlier. I'm done. I'll see you round - but don't let us spoil the party."

A shadow passed across Herrick's face, and Mitchell was in no doubt that he was still unfinished business. But it seemed that the lure dangled in front of his old comrade was too strong to resist. So the shadow was folded away and he pulled out his brightest grin.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Amy my dear." Herrick bowed towards the girl "I'm afraid it's just the two of us tonight. Christophe can't make it after all. I'll show these two out. But don't worry your pretty little head, I'll be back in a tick."

* * *

><p>The sun was shining with the crisp brightness of the end of autumn. Rachel and Mitchell sat across from each other in the bright kitchen, the radio whispering in the background. Just a lazy Sunday late morning breakfast.<p>

"God you eat a lot of cereal. Where do you put it all?" Rachel asked with a grin.

Mitchell smiled back, and then reached out to stroke along the side of her hand. A small frown flickered between his dark brows. "How's your wrist feeling?"

Rachel sighed and put her other hand over his. "It's fine, really it is. It's healing amazingly easily. You have to stop asking me that, you're driving me crazy."

He leant back in his chair and raised his hands in mock surrender. "OK, OK, I promise I'll shut up. Vampire bites never get infected you know. Weird that. Maybe one day I'll hand myself over to a scientist. They could study me - imagine the good they could do."

Rachel glanced up over the rim of her cup and titled her head to one side. "Not until _I've_ finished studying you!"

"I'm liking the sound of that sweetheart." Mitchell laughed for a second, but before she had the chance to say more he deflected her flirtation with deliberate seriousness "You do know I don't _want_ you to leave, don't you."

Rachel stood, walked behind where he sat and wrapped her arms around his shoulders "You could come with us" she said.

"To Italy? Lovely place. But I can't. I have to make sure nothing rocks the boat here til Herrick gets back."

"Why you? Seriously, why not walk away from all this?"

"Shhh. Listen. Turn the sound up." Mitchell said, gesturing towards the radio.

'_Back to the traffic news. Major tailbacks on the M4 today as a lorry jack-knifed across two lanes outside Swindon earlier this morning. Police are in attendance and latest reports from the scene suggest the lorry contained an undisclosed number of illegal immigrants. No-one is reported to have been injured, and no other vehicle was involved in the incident. It is understood that the driver of the vehicle has not been located despite an extensive search. More news as soon as it is available. Motorists are advised to avoid...'_

Rachel switched the radio off and stared at Mitchell. "You?" she asked.

"Mostly Miles." he replied. "And he found a bloody good driver to jack-knife a vehicle of that size without injuring anyone."

"And where is the driver?"

"I think your father may have picked up a hitch-hiker this morning, don't you?"

Rachel's face lit up as if a whole weight had lifted from her shoulders. "But as far as everyone else is concerned Christophe chose the driver, so it's all his fault then." she grinned.

She looked beautiful, Mitchell thought as she stepped round and swung her leg over him until she sat on his lap facing him. Mitchell felt her hands trace the muscles in his arms then reach up to touch the sides of his face. He should stop her of course, but he couldn't. He waited and felt the warmth of her lips as they pressed to his. Her arms reached around his shoulders, her fingers twisted urgently in his curls, and her body curved into his as she deepened the kiss. Mitchell curled his arms around her waist and opened his mouth in response. Christ she felt so good. He felt good. His kiss became more insistent, his arms held on ever tighter and they searched deeper into each other. A human kiss. He could remember the last time he felt like this. Another time when his kisses were all about the other person, only about giving to her. Over thirty years ago.

Rachel moved her head back with a gasp and started to run kisses down his neck, her fingers snaking up to feel the hard planes of his chest and to touch the curls that just escaped the top of his t-shirt.

Moving his hands to draw her face back up to his, Mitchell cupped the sides of her face and reached forward to kiss her again. The kiss was long, and deep, and gentle - and final.

When he ended the kiss with a sigh, Rachel looked at him, her hands resting on his arms as they dropped to hold her softly around the waist.

"I can't leave with you Rachel. I can't be with you."

Rachel started to lean forwards to kiss him again "Of course you can" she whispered.

Mitchell pulled his head back a little and she stopped.

"I don't know how to find a way of telling you this. I've tasted you Rachel. Your blood will start to pull in my veins, and every time we are close the pull will grow stronger. It will be exciting and dangerous because it won't be controlled. Look at me honestly. I'm telling you that I will kill you. Louisa knows that, that's why she's so desperate to get you far away. And she's right. You know it too. You've seen the real me."

"That's not the real you." Rachel protested.

"Oh it is, sweetheart. Just as much as this is the real me. It's time to say goodbye. C'mon, you know I'm right Rachel."

She stroked a finger down his cheek, "I do. But please let me pretend for a few minutes longer. What will you do?"

"I'm not sure, but I know I need to be on my own now. After all this time I have to find my own way without being Herrick's creature."

"On your own? Mitchell, oh I don't know, you might be right but ... Look, from the you _I've_ seen, it seems to me that to be most yourself you need someone to care about."

And Mitchell felt the warmth of her arms reach around him again.

* * *

><p>He had walked the streets for hours in the days that followed Rachel and Louisa's departure. He didn't want to return to his flat again. He'd cleaned and tidied away the wreckage as much as he could, but he felt adrift there. Empty. Lonely. Just waiting for the hunger to claim him again and enslave him as it always did.<p>

It was dark now and so cold he could see his breath in the air. He leant against a dank wall and sent the text he'd been avoiding sending all day. With Herrick gone he was circling the vampire community, making sure their heads were down because without Herrick working his magic at the police station the last thing he wanted to deal with was more mess. Keep the kills simple and untraceable, that's all he asked.

Keep moving, just keep moving, he told himself. Herrick was forever telling each new recruit that he or she was a shark. No doubt he meant a Great White, effortlessly ruling the seas in majestic silence, choosing it's prey and striking with terrifying power. Mitchell wasn't impressed any more. To him it conjured up a vision of a creature trapped in endless motion, owned by its need to feed. And if it stopped moving. It died.

At least he'd get a coffee and food in the café where the others were waiting for him, he was fuckin' freezing.

As he got closer he heard sickening noises coming from the back alley. Ah Jesus. He recognised Seth's voice 'get in there boys'. Shit. What was the eejit doing now.

"Woah, Woah!" he shouted as he walked towards them.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, but looking around it was obvious. Some poor sod was huddled on the floor half hidden by the bins. Blood was spattered across the wall and floor. Marco and Sorensen stepped back, their bodies jittery from the interrupted violence and desperate for the kill.

"He's a lyco, man. We saw him in the caff." Marco said.

Mitchell shot a pitying, shocked look at the man left bleeding and cowering on the ground.

* * *

><p>And then what?<p>

They were just two souls.

United by fear and solitude.

Lost in the dark.

Fate pushed them together, and now they were going to find out why.

* * *

><p><strong><em>THE BEGINNING.<em>**


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